Chapter 30
Nathan
"You’re a good friend." I release her shoulder, only to cup her cheek.
My words sound so inconsequential. My heart hurts; my chest squeezes in on itself.
The buzz in my head, which has faded away since we left the crowd of people behind at the wedding venue, picks up again.
"I am so sorry for what happened to Hugo. "
"Thank you," she murmurs.
"It must be very difficult seeing him in this state."
"It is." She sniffles. "He was a brilliant chef. He had a brilliant future. He had… Has a natural knack for cooking any dish, be it an entrée or sweet dish. He could have gone all the way to the top. And now… He can barely remember his name most days." Tears pour down her cheeks.
My guts churn. I can’t bear to see her cry.
Can’t tolerate seeing the distress she is in.
I lean over the small coffee table and press my lips to hers.
It’s meant to be comforting, a way for me to distract her from the sadness that grips her.
I merely want to console her, but the touch of her mouth, the warmth of her breath, the taste of her goes straight to my head.
I draw her sweet cherry-blossom scent into my lungs, and every cell in my body seems to burst into flames.
I tilt my head, slide my tongue over hers, and she makes that little moan at the back of her throat, the one that drives me crazy.
I lean in further, tipping my glass of water, which falls to the floor with a crash.
The sound cuts through my brain, and the pain in my eardrums escalates.
The sound of gunfire. Of screams. The thud of footsteps racing toward me.
The images overwhelm me. I flinch, pull away and squeeze my eyes shut.
Take a breath, another. Try to rid the wave of static that overwhelms my hearing.
When it abates to a bearable level, I open my eyes.
She’s looking at me with worry on her features. "Are you okay?"
I shake my head. "I will be." I reach for the bottle of water and take a sip.
"Was it the noise of the glass crashing to the floor that set you off?" she asks in a soft voice.
I retrieve my glass and place it on the table. "Loud noises hurt my ears."
"You’re suffering from PTSD?"
I nod. "That last mission I was part of went south.
The other two men on our team were killed by enemy fire.
Ben and I took the rest of them out. Carrying our dead team-mates, we were making our way back to the extraction point when a bomb went off next to me.
Ben shoved me away, got the brunt of it instead. I owe him my life."
"He never told me," she whispers.
He shrugs. "Modest bastard. Never liked taking credit for his bravery."
She nods, her cheeks glisten with her tears, and she wipes them off.
"He’s always been that way. Every time I thought taking care of Hugo and running the business was too much, I thought of him on the front lines.
I thought of you on the front lines, too.
And how brave both of you were, and it gave me the courage to keep going. ”
"I’m not brave." I twist my lips. "If I were, I wouldn’t have coerced you to marry me in this fashion.
Her gaze widens. "Are you admitting that what you did was wrong?"
I rub the back of my neck. "I wouldn’t go that far."
She rolls her eyes. "I should have known, getting an apology from you is too far out to imagine."
"I should have told you upfront that I never stopped thinking about you. That we made a good match. That we could help each other. I could have used a softer approach, I suppose."
She blinks slowly. "Wow, should I be grateful that the great Nathan Davenport has extended me a half-apology?"
I quirk my lips. "That was half-assed, as far as apologies go. You and I both know that. So no, I wasn’t apologizing. I’m not sorry for finding a way to make you mine."
Remember me thinking that our marriage would end and that I’d have to walk away from her?
Also, that I’d be okay with that? Bugger that.
I have her here with me, in my house, under my roof, and I know now, I’ll never be able to live without her.
She’s my wife. And I intend to do everything to convince her to stay mine.
I intend to own her heart, and her thoughts, and her body.
I intend to pleasure her, so she never forgets who she belongs to.
So her skin only ever wants my touch. So her soul knows who’s her mate.
So she has eyes for me, and no one else.
I intend to win her over and monopolize her heart, such that when the time comes to forgive me, she won’t think twice.
And if it means I use underhanded means to win her sympathy, then so be it.
She tilts her head, "When the bomb went off next to you, were you hurt?”
"I was, but not seriously.” I shift my stance. “I got to keep all of my limbs. But my hearing was impaired."
"Oh." Her eyes grow huge. "Is that why you often stare at my mouth? You’re trying to make up for your loss in hearing by lip reading?"
"That’s part of it. The other part is, I can’t stop thinking of our first kiss."
She draws in a sharp breath.
"Couldn’t forget the shape of your mouth, the softness of your lips, the little whines you made at the back of your throat, the sweetness of your breath, the beat of your heart as it picked up speed, the thrum of your pulse at the base of your throat.
The sensation of finding something so precious, so unique, so once-in-a-lifetime was so overwhelming—"
"—you turned and left me."
I wince. "You were too young."
"I was eighteen."
"You were my best-friend’s sister."
She scoffs. "He’d have come around, like he’s going to do now, when he finds out we’re together."
That familiar flutter of unease slithers through my veins, and I push it away.
Now’s not the time to tell her everything.
Then when? When I know for sure, she’s so in love with me, it’ll override all other emotions.
When I know she won’t want to leave me. When I’m sure she’ll understand why I did what I did.
When… I know it’s the right time to tell her the truth, knowing she has the strength to bear it.
When she trusts me enough to allow me to support her as she deals with the aftermath of it.
"You were a virgin."
She tips up her chin. "I still am."
"Not for much longer."
She blinks rapidly, then color flushes her cheeks. "If that’s your way of saying you are going to—"
"Run." I jerk my chin in the direction of the doors leading to the house.
"Excuse me?" She gapes.
"Unless you don’t want to? Unless you want to give in to me without a fight, which I admit, would be a disappointment."
She stares between my eyes, then reaches for the bottle of Champagne and slowly takes a sip. "Is this one of your kinky-fuckery games?"
I bark out a laugh, then take the bottle from her and place it down on the table with a soft thunk. "Does saying those words turn you on?"
"Of course not." She pouts.
“Hmm…” I drag my thumb under my bottom lip. She follows my movements, her breathing growing rapid. I lift the bottle of water to my lips, then pause, "Open your mouth, wife."
She seems like she’s going to refuse, and when she finally complies, I’m sure I’m going to come in my pants.
That’s how little control I have around this woman.
I take a sip of my water, then beckon her forward.
When she leans in, I close the distance to her and spit it into her mouth.
She swallows, and her cheeks flush crimson.
Then, she licks her lips. I lift my bottle to my mouth again and drain it.
When I place it back on the table, she’s watching me with a hint of fear and excitement woven through her gaze.
"This is your last chance."
"For what?"