Chapter 15
Hilary Winthrop
After a quick tour of the townhouse, a hearty dinner, and settling Aisha and Momo into the guest rooms on the second floor, Connor ushers me to the study on the first floor.
Despite the exhaustion plaguing my bones, I don’t drag my feet. The sooner we get this over with, the better equipped I’ll be to handle whatever chaos fate decides to throw at me next.
I brace myself for the worst and hope for the best, but with Connor Pen involved, there’s no telling what the outcome will be.
He pulls out his desk chair and gestures for me to sit as he stands behind it.
As I plod across the floor barefoot with my hair down and blazer still over the back of my chair at the kitchen table, a sliver of unease creeps through me.
I don’t feel prepared for this. I should don my full armor like I always do before business meetings, but the appreciation in Connor’s glittering green eyes pulls me forward.
With his shirt—a clean one he changed into when we arrived—half unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled, and his hair mussed from a day of mayhem, he seems somehow softer yet no less menacing.
I sit and let him push me back to the desk. Goosebumps rise on my nape as he tucks my hair behind my ear and steals a kiss to my temple before propping his hip on the corner of the desk and gesturing to the open folders laid out over the top.
He must have organized this while I was settling my sisters into their new rooms.
I start with the closest one and skim through, deciding to create a broad brain map before I dive deeper into specifics.
The first two folders focus on hard evidence of Jocelyn and Alex’s involvement in his mother’s death.
“Is this all you have?” I ask.
He nods.
“Yes. They had about a decade to clean up after themselves before I had enough power to start looking without tipping them off.”
“How do you plan to link them?”
“Jocelyn is a slave to money and her emotions about it, as we saw in the jewelry store. Even if we can’t get concrete evidence of her crimes twenty-four years ago, we can get her and keep her behind bars rather easily once Alex falls.”
I chew on my inner lip as I weigh the pros and cons. Overall, he’s right. Even if he can’t prove previous crimes, he can still avenge his mom and ensure her killer never hurts another person again.
With a nod, I close and stack those folders before skimming over the others.
Disbelief pulses through me. I double and triple check the numbers before lifting shocked eyes to his.
“Through subsidiaries and partnerships, you almost own more shares of the Koch family business than Alex Koch himself has.”
“Almost is not enough,” he snarls.
“Wait, rewind. Cheesy inheritance plot. This has nothing about a will or illegitimacy or marriage—”
“Alex Koch is a vile piece of shit. He doesn’t care about the bastard he abandoned so long ago. I don’t need an inheritance to take everything from him.”
“Then why the marriage contract?”
He slides a folder closer to me.
I read through it several times. It makes sense, but I don’t like it. At first, I don’t understand why, but then I close my emotions into a little box and work through only facts.
“You have the order wrong,” I decide.
He leans closer and asks, “How so?”
“You can’t protect me until we’re legally wed. Marry me in secret, flaunt me as your fiancée, move assets to my name, and then move to the next step.”
“No. You deserve a grand wedding.”
“Ew. No thanks. I don’t want a big wedding, but if it’s that important to you, we can have a massive vow renewal ceremony and hire all the news channels to broadcast it so the Koch’s can watch it in prison.”
“You’re evil.”
“Thanks.”
He chuckles and reaches for me, but I kick off the desk and swivel the chair out of reach.
“I may be evil, but I have my limits. We will ensure Destiny isn’t clumped in with her parents.” His amusement fades into cold disapproval, but I continue as he stalks toward me. “We’ll protect her from the fallout, including her financial, educational, and emotional well-being.”
He leans down and grabs the armrests, caging me in and towering over me. Despite my racing heart and throbbing clit, I quirk an unimpressed brow.
“No,” he growls.
I scowl, lean forward, and tilt my chin, daring him to refute me.
“Yes. She’s a child. Was she even conceived when her mother killed yours?”
His brow gives the slightest twitch.
“She’s a victim, too. Both Alex and Jocelyn act like she’s baggage they lug around just for clout. There’s no connection between them.”
My words spark something in his eyes, so I press onward.
“It’s not her fault. She’s innocent.”
For several tension-filled moments, we stare into each other’s eyes, neither of us willing to relent.
He gives a disgruntled huff, rises, and runs his hand through his hair as he begins pacing back and forth.
I can’t peel my stare away from him. His long legs carry him with mouthwatering ease, and his ruffled hair fills me with the yearning to touch and tug.
“We can’t protect every poor soul you feel sorry for,” he argues.
“Yes we can.”
“Hilary—”
“I saved you.”
He grits his teeth and stops in front of me.
“That’s different,” he snarls.
I lift a brow in challenge.
“How so? How are you any different from Destiny or Momo or Aisha? You can’t accept them and not her.”
After a moment of staring, he grabs my thighs and yanks them apart as he drops to his knees between them.
“Fucking hell, you’re gorgeous when you ride into battle.” He skims his hands higher on my thighs and squeezes. His thumbs tease centimeters away from where I want him most. “My fucking gorgeous gladiator goddess.”
I give in to temptation and spear my fingers into his hair. We both groan at the sensuality of the connection.
“You sure are elegant for a villain,” I murmur.
“I’m beginning to wonder if you’ve corrupted me to the good side,” he mock sneers.
He wedges himself deeper between my legs. I squeeze my knees together until he winces.
After learning of Connor’s alternate identity and being trapped in a vivid replay of my mother’s murder and my sister’s wailing, I don’t trust myself enough for intimacy with anyone, much less him. I drop my hand to the armrest but mourn the loss of the silky strands of his hair between my fingers.
“Are we in agreement over Destiny?” I ask.
“We are,” he growls.
“Is there anything else we need to discuss tonight? I’m exhausted,” I say.
He sighs and wraps his arms around my waist, squeezing my hips with his hands along the way, and rests the side of his face against my chest.
“We’re done. Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs.
His lips nuzzle perilously close to my nipple.
“Separate beds in separate rooms,” I scold.
“No. Same room. I won’t let you out of my sight after what happened today,” he declares.
Too tired to fight, I accept his terms and shoo him away.
To my surprise, he rises, but before I can join him, he reaches behind my back and under my legs and lifts me to his chest. I cling to his collar and grit my teeth as he walks through the townhouse, glaring at him every step of the way but keeping my mouth shut so we don’t alarm my sisters.
He drops me off in the master bathroom, grabs a few items from the closet, sneaks a kiss to my temple, and disappears into the hallway. I wait until the sound of the downstairs bathroom door closing filters up through the house before I shut the door and slog through my evening routine.
When I finish, Connor waits beside the bed with the corner of the blankets lifted in his fist. He looks impossibly delicious shirtless with baggy grey sweatpants slung low on his hips.
If not for the bruising covering his torso and the bandage on his shoulder, he could totally be a model with his muscular frame and veiny arms.
The couch in the sitting area already has a sheet draped over it, a pillow in a pillowcase, and a small stack of folded blankets at the other end.
I step toward the bed but hesitate before slipping between the sheets.
My big, bad bosshole tries his best to aim pleading eyes at me, but the demand lurking in them ruins the effect.
“Let me hold you in my arms tonight. I can control myself,” he vows.
“Well I can’t, so I’ll sleep on the couch.”
I stride across the room and flop onto the couch in the lounge area.
Firm arms scoop me up. I gasp and flail, but Connor cradles me to his chest and spins on his heel.
“Be still or I might drop you,” he warns.
“I’m sleeping on the couch,” I snarl with a twist.
For the briefest of moments, I freefall, but the sensation is terrifying enough I screech. Connor catches me with ease and smirks as I clutch at his uninjured shoulder.
“You’re still hurt,” I chide.
“I can carry you all day long and not break a sweat. And my offer will always stand. Give me everything, my gladiator goddess. I can handle it.”
His smug smirk brings out the worst in me.
“You think so? Then let’s meet on the mats tomorrow after getting our marriage license.”
“I look forward to it,” he rumbles.
“At my gym, not yours,” I clarify.
Several unreadable emotions play over his features.
“Whatever my warrior queen commands,” he vows as he lays me in the bed and tucks the blankets over me.
“Goodnight, Hilary,” he murmurs.
“Goodnight…” I don’t know whether to call him Connor or Heath. Heath seems wrong. He’s not a little boy anymore, especially not right now.
“Say my name, Hilary,” he demands, giving me the answer.
“Goodnight, Connor.”
Pleasure softens his expression. He brushes his closed lips over my cheek and pulls the blankets tighter around me before turning off the lights and settling on the couch.
I drift into a serene lake with a small smile on my face.
Today may have been horrible, but tomorrow promises adventure and fun.
I’ll marry the man who can infuriate and arouse me at the same time, who also happens to be the boy I saved in my early teens, without worrying about guest lists, fancy attire, or the status quo, and then I’ll get to introduce him to someone who can deliver worse damage than his uncle.
Although maybe I don’t want him beaten to a pulp again. Tomorrow will be our first night as a married couple.
In the peace between the present and sleep, I can’t lie to myself anymore.
Momo is right.
I love Connor Pen.
I may have signed a contract for a five-year marriage, but he’ll never get rid of me.
He’s mine. No matter what name he goes by or how grandiose his plans for revenge may be, I will always be by his side.
I’m his gladiator goddess. His warrior queen.
He’s my king of vengeance.
Connor Pen.