Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
Alejandro
Unusually, I oversleep, and Alana isn’t in bed when I wake.
Not unusual, I have a raging hard-on and nothing but my hand to fuck.
Although that’s not entirely true. I could fuck my wife.
Given the way she looks at me through those dark lashes when she thinks I can’t see her and the way her pupils dilate when we make eye contact, I’m confident she wouldn’t reject my advances.
Or maybe she would and I’m fooling myself completely.
It’s true things between us have been less strained since my mom’s visit three weeks ago.
Hugo is working out well as Alana’s personal bodyguard, and since she never leaves the house without him, I’m able to get on with my life without worrying about her safety.
Doesn’t stop me thinking about her almost constantly, but at least I know she’s safe.
I continue to spend most of my time at my hotel, hoping the distance will cure this growing obsession I seem to be developing with her. Because when I am home, I can’t stop fucking watching her, thinking about touching her, imagining what it would be like to kiss her, to fuck her.
I scrub a hand through my hair and stalk to the bathroom.
This is why I won’t fuck her. Because she’s already too far under my skin for comfort.
Surely this intense attraction to her will lessen with time, become purely physical.
So that when I do finally take her, which I will, it will be nothing more than sex.
Alana Carmichael is the doting daughter of a snake, and she is not to be trusted.
She goes out almost every day with the charity ladies, and it seems sipping champagne and cocktails every afternoon is a good way for a Manhattan princess to pass her time.
I head to the kitchen after my shower, looking for some coffee before my morning commute but stop when I hear Alana and Magda speaking in hushed tones.
“The house is wonderful. You have everything you could ever need within these walls,” Magda says, sounding defensive.
Alana gives a sad laugh. “The house is beautiful, yes, but …”
A better man would announce his presence and not eavesdrop on their private conversation, but I’m not that man. I find myself eager to hear what will follow that “but.”
Magda is silent.
“It feels like I’m a prisoner here,” Alana says. “There are so many guards everywhere. I know I get to leave with Hugo, but it’s not the same as being able to come and go as I please.”
“Well, that is the way of things here,” Magda tells her, not dismissive but matter-of-fact.
“I suppose.” Alana sighs. “You should have seen my place in New York, Magda. It was this big.” She giggles, and I’m annoyed I can’t see what she’s doing with her hands. “God, I miss it so much.”
I grind my teeth and resist stalking into the kitchen to tell her to stop wishing for her past. She chose this life.
Alana knew exactly what she was signing on for, and she needs to learn to make the best of it.
All she wanted was to be a kept woman, a spoiled wife who never had to work for anything, and that’s exactly what she is.
So why does her sadness affect me so much?
Why does it seep into my bones and leave me with my own sense of melancholy?
I guess she hasn’t yet had the opportunity to experience the trappings of the lifestyle she married me for. Perhaps a shopping trip will make her happy.
Before I leave, I scribble a quick note and slip it into an envelope along with my Black Amex card. Hopefully it’s enough to put a smile on her face, but I have no idea why that feels so important to me.
Passing through the reception area of my hotel, I nod a greeting to the concierge and scan the area for Jax, whom I spot near the entrance to the bar, talking to Richie Burnett.
Richie does some work for us in Philadelphia. Thinks he’s a big fish and repeatedly tells anyone he works with that he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.
I don’t either. It’s disrespectful.
But Richie’s a prick. I intend to make him wait.
Before I deal with him, I have more pressing matters on my mind. Hugo needed the morning off today, so Alana had to do her shopping trip with Hank, along with one of my longest-serving drivers, Jacob. I take out my cell phone and dial the latter’s number.
Alana called me after she discovered the credit card and note I’d left for her.
She asked if she could buy a few things to make her feel more at home in my Bel Air mansion, and I agreed.
Maybe I should have set her a limit. I don’t care how much of my money she spends, but I do care about her making significant changes to my house without my approval.
My house was designed by a professional, down to the silverware, and I dread to think what my Manhattan princess would consider more homely than her current elegant surroundings. From her attire, I’d say she has simple tastes, but maybe that’s because she hasn’t been let loose with my Amex before.
“Is everything okay, Boss?” Jacob asks when he answers. I rarely call him out of the blue like this.
“All’s good. Did Mrs. Montoya enjoy her shopping trip today?”
I can practically hear his internal sigh of relief. “Yes, sir. I believe so. She appeared very happy when she got back into the car.”
Very happy? Wonder how much that cost me. “How much of my money did she spend?” I ask, one eye on Jax, who is keeping our guest entertained judging by the raucous laughter coming from Richie.
“Hold up. She gave me her receipts. Just let me check,” he replies, and I hear the rustling of paper. “One hundred forty-seven dollars and seventy-four cents.”
“Do you have all of her receipts?”
“Yep.”
She had a credit card with no limit, and she spent less than a hundred fifty bucks? That can’t be right. “How much?”
“One hundred—” he starts to repeat the amount, but I heard him the first time. My question was rhetorical.
“Is that all?”
“Yes, Boss.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and think this through.
It’s possible she only gave him the receipts for the items she took with her from the store and is having the rest delivered.
Custom-made furniture and bespoke Italian shoes can’t be bought off the rack.
Or maybe she prefers online shopping. For all I know, she could be blowing her way through a few million right this minute.
“Is she at home now?”
“No, Boss. We got back after lunch, and then she and Hugo left straightaway to go to her charity thing. She gave me your card as soon as we got back. Said she got what she needed.”
Jax glances over at me, probably already bored of Richie. I hold up two fingers to let him know I’ll be a couple more minutes. This is more important than Richie. “What exactly did she buy?”
“Umm,” he says, and I hear the rustling of receipts again. “A bottle of ketchup. A box of English breakfast tea. Four bags of gummy worms. Two picture frames. Two candles. Two bottles of bubble bath and an anti-allergen pillow.”
I swap my cell to my other ear, certain I misheard him. “That’s all?”
“That’s all,” Jacob confirms.
I thank him and end the call. What the fuck?
I was sure she’d spend a fortune on clothes and handbags.
Makeup. Shoes. Beauty treatments. A car.
Fuck, I wouldn’t have stopped her from buying herself a new Lamborghini.
But she bought candles and food. I must be missing some important information about my new wife, because she’s constantly surprising the hell out of me.
“Everything okay, Boss?” Julio asks.
“What?” I ask distractedly.
My men are no doubt disturbed by how quiet and still I am, but Julio knows better than to ask again. “They’re waiting for you.” He jerks his head toward Jax and Richie.
“Tell them to wait five more minutes. I have another call to make.”
Julio does as he’s told and I call Alana.
She answers on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Did you go shopping today?”
“I did. Thank you again for your card.”
“Did you get everything you needed?” I ask.
“Yep.” I can’t see her, but I sense her smiling on the other end of the line. So bubble bath, candles, ketchup, and candy are what she needs to feel at home? Perhaps I misjudged her—if only a little.
Or maybe she’s playing me. Whichever it is, I need to know more about my mysterious wife. “I’m taking you out to dinner tonight. Be ready at eight.”
“Dinner? Out?” She practically squeals with delight.
“We’ve been married for almost six weeks now and haven’t been seen in public together since. If I don’t take you out somewhere soon, people might start to think I’m holding you against your will.”
“Alejandro Montoya, did you just crack a joke?” The sound of her laugh makes my cock twitch uncomfortably. Something that happens all too often around her, and it’s the last thing I need before my meeting.
“Be ready at eight,” I snap.
“How should I dress?” The way she purrs the words does nothing to help my semihard cock situation.
How should she dress? “Sexy,” I answer, curious to see how she’ll interpret that particular request.
“Sexy it is. See you at eight.”
I end the call, and thanks to my own ill-thought-out request, my mind is filled with images of her in a tight black dress and heels.
In those tiny fucking panties she sleeps in.
The truth is she looks sexy no matter what she wears.
She is fucking beautiful, and her curves make me harder than an iron bar.
I adjust my suit jacket so the evidence of that isn’t on full display in the lobby of my hotel.
The sooner I fuck this woman out of my system, the better.