Chapter 19
Nathan
"Where the fuck is the goddamn elevator?" I stab my finger into the button that's supposed to summon the elevator, but which has shown no sign of doing so for the last thirty seconds.
On my way over, I used the Davenport name to talk to the manager of the hotel, who confirmed to me that my fiancée was in the hotel. He also obtained the room number she’d gone into and messaged it to me. Apparently, the Davenport clout is good for something.
The elevator doors open, I stalk inside, turn, then bare my teeth at the couple who were about to enter.
They freeze, then skitter back. I punch in the floor number where the room she went into is located, then drag my fingers through my hair as the elevator climbs the floors.
It comes to a stop, and when the doors slide back, I rush out.
Down the corridor, toward the room where she’s supposed to be.
I use the keycard I took from the manager to let myself in.
I rush inside, then come to a stop. She’s standing at the far end by a big bay window.
Her back is to me, her thick blonde hair flowing down her back.
Her hips are outlined in the dress she’s wearing, which comes to just above her knees.
On her feet, she’s wearing stilettos, with chain-like straps that go around her ankles.
Something about the erotic effect of how it clings to her skin twists my stomach. She wore this for another man?
She turns to look over her shoulder. There’s a smile on her face, which disappears when she spots me. Her gaze widens, and her color fades. "You," she whispers, "what are you doing here?"
"I should be asking you that question, dear fiancée. Speaking of"—I glance down at the empty ring finger on her left hand—"where is your ring?"
She turns around to face me, then shoves her hand behind her back. "That’s no business of yours."
"On the contrary." I take a step forward; she moves back. "It’s all my business. You are my business. In fact,"—I look her up and down—"your business is my business."
She looks at me suspiciously. "Wh-what's that supposed to mean?"
"Have you checked your bank account lately?"
She shakes her head.
"The money you need to pay off your debts has been deposited."
Her jaw drops. "So soon? But I just signed the paperwork an hour ago."
My lawyers informed me they’d received her e-signature, and I ordered my banker to deposit the money in her account.
"I fulfilled my part of the bargain." I take a step forward, and she stiffens. "You have no choice but to go through with your end now."
She firms her lips. "So, this is you making sure I can’t back out?"
"Do you want to back out?"
Before she can reply, the door to the ensuite bathroom opens, and a man steps into the room. He spots me, and his features harden. "You’re in the wrong room, buddy."
"No, you’re in a hotel room with my fiancée, buddy; that’s what’s wrong."
His gaze widens. He turns to her. "You’re engaged?"
"Hey, don't talk to her; talk to me." I plant myself between them, cutting her off from his line of sight.
He has no choice but to address me. "I didn’t know." He raises his hands.
"Now, you do."
"But she’s here, so maybe she doesn’t want to be—" he argues.
"Don’t fucking say it." I take a step in his direction, and he shuffles back.
"Whoa, whoa, I didn’t come here to be caught in any marital discord.
" He continues to sidle in the direction of the door, which is the only reason I don’t grab him and shove him out.
"But I have to point out, if she’s here, despite being engaged to you, then it stands to reason, you’re not satisfying—"
I stalk toward him. He turns and races out the door. I slam it shut, lock it for good measure, then turn and place my shoulders against it. "Answer the question."
"Wh-which one?"
"Do you want to back out of the deal?"
She hesitates.
My heart slams into my ribcage. I cannot… Will not let her back out. "Why don’t you check the money in your bank account? That might help you."
She looks like she’s about to refuse, then nods. She heads toward where she’s placed her handbag on the nightstand on the right side of the bed. That’s the side she prefers to sleep on.
So, she came here with the intention of staying the night.
I curl my fingers into fists at my sides.
My fiancée came to this hotel room with the intention of sleeping with another man days before our wedding.
My shoulders bunch, and the blood roars at my temples.
This is my fault. I walked out on her after telling her what happened between us was a mistake.
I made her come but I didn’t fuck her. I didn’t satisfy my woman.
And she decided to turn to another man. I watch as she reaches the nightstand, pulls her phone from her handbag, and swipes her fingers across the screen.
Her eyes widen, and she turns on me. “That’s much more than the figure stated in the contract.”
“It’s three times the sum,” I snap.
“Why? Why would you do that?”
“To make sure you never need money again. You can invest it in your business. Or use it for anything else you want.”
A strange look comes into her eyes—one mixed with relief, and a hint of suspicion.
So, she does have use for the additional money.
Why didn’t she ask me for it in the first place?
Haven’t I made it clear to her that her needs are my priority?
Probably not. Not with the way I’ve behaved with her.
Kissing her, making her come, then walking out on her. I need to make it up to her. But how?
“You needn’t have done that.” She firms her lips. “I don’t need your handouts.”
“Oh, I didn’t do it for you.”
She blinks. “What do you mean?”
“I did it to make sure my future wife wants for nothing. You’re mine. And I take care of what belongs to me.”
“I’m not a possession.” She scowls.
“Oh, you’re more than that.” I prowl toward her.
She stiffens, but when I come to a stop in front of her, she doesn’t move away. I bend my knees and peer into her eyes. “You’re my best friend’s sister.” And the only woman I want in my bed. “Which is why, you realize, I can’t fuck you, right?”