Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Because it’s Her
HENRY
My eyes refused to behave. They kept straying to Ri’s lithe form in that slinky, low cut one-piece pants thing. It nipped in at her waist, it accentuated the gentle curve of her hips. And her breasts …
I hadn’t been able to think about anything else since she’d waltzed into my bedroom, looking good enough to eat, and smelling like a dessert I’d like to devour.
I swallowed heavily, trying to stare out the window of Lucian’s SUV. But there went my eyes again, straight to her cleavage, dusted with something that subtly shimmered when the sun hit it. Designed to draw the eye—I had no hope of avoiding ogling her.
She was the most exquisite thing I had ever seen.
“Are you sure you didn’t secretly agree to join the runway show?” I rumbled.
She smiled prettily, eyes sparkling. “Why? Does this jumpsuit make me look like a model?”
“It’s not the jumpsuit,” I murmured, dragging my eyes from her chest to meet hers. “It’s just you, Catnip.”
Good grief, I was mooning over her. I'd promised myself I'd keep my distance after the Icebergs debacle, when I'd been desperate for more of her mouth and aching because she was... well, her.
Her lips parted, tongue darting out to wet them.
I swallowed back a groan. Those lips starred in every fantasy I had.
This woman was turning me into a raging beast. I'd never wanted anyone the way I wanted Irina—not even Cadence in four years together.
But while my feelings ran deeper than physical, I had no indication that hers were anything more than a bit of cheeky flirting.
Not enough to risk confessing anything.
Ri cleared her throat. “Well, let’s not gloss over the fact that you are looking pretty fire yourself, Mr Billionaire!” She lifted her hand, fingers twitching in the direction of my chest.
Touch me! Please, just touch me.
Her hand stilled in mid-air, gesturing in the direction of my sternum. “I mean, the hint of chest? Way to pull focus from the runway!”
I glanced down at the patch of skin that the V-neck of my dark navy T-shirt revealed. I adjusted my glasses self-consciously. “I don’t think that—”
“Well, I know where I’ll be looking … and it won’t be at River and his models,” Ri insisted, and before I knew it was happening, she pressed a hand to my chest, one finger curling along the exposed curve of my collarbone.
My pants were suddenly far too tight as blood flooded to my groin. At least it wouldn’t be staining my cheeks. Although, one glance down at my lap, and she’d know exactly which direction my blood was flowing.
“Don’t be cheeky,” I rasped, plucking her hand from my chest. Her expression flattened, and I cursed myself for not thinking before I spoke. She probably assumed I was reprimanding her. I wasn’t.
I was begging her for reprieve from my erection.
I quickly linked my fingers with hers, resting our hands on the seat between us, as Lucian wound through the traffic of Surry Hills on our way to the launch of River’s Fluss clothing line.
Her hand was warm, and I gave it a squeeze, hoping it was enough to convey that I wasn’t upset that she’d touched me.
I wanted more of everything I could get from her.
I wanted to demand that Lucian turn the car around and return us to the Girl on Fire.
I wanted to dismiss every single employee from the yacht and tell her I wanted to be stupid, and reckless, because I had no self-control, and I wanted her in every way it was possible for a man to want a woman.
The car slowed, and Lucian pulled into a space at the front of a large red-brick warehouse. Suddenly, every nerve ending was wired with excitement and nerves, that jittery energy that always overtook me whenever I had to be in a place that was unfamiliar. Particularly a crowded place.
I took a deep breath and climbed out of the car, turning back to the gorgeous woman who would be on my arm as we waded into this circus of media and celebrities. I could do this with Ri by my side. Pride ballooned in my chest as I reached a hand into the car.
“It’s showtime, Mrs Baxter.”
With an uncharacteristically shy smile, she took my hand and elegantly slid from the vehicle. She straightened, unnecessarily smoothing the pristine fabric of her outfit, and tucked her loose, gently waved hair behind one ear, revealing a simple silver stud in her lobe.
I need to buy her sapphire earrings, to match her ring. I longed to spoil her the way she deserved. And why shouldn’t I? It wouldn’t seem out of place for a man with the sort of wealth I commanded to shower her with gifts.
I made a mental note to pay another visit to Tiffany’s soon as I lifted her knuckles to my lips.
“Let’s do this.”
“Side by side, Mr Baxter,” she said with a wink, linking her arm through mine. Her body was a warm, comforting presence as we navigated the tight swarm of teenaged girls bouncing around on the pavement outside the entrance—no doubt hopeful for a glimpse of their blond idol.
“I had no idea that River was so popular,” I murmured in her ear, taking the opportunity to inhale the intoxicating summery scent of her.
Her tinkling laugh shot straight to the centre of me. “You really need to bone up on your pop culture, Hubby.”
I groaned softly, my breath stirring her hair. “Please don’t say bone and hubby in the same sentence when we’re in public.”
She tilted her head up, her smile suspiciously sweet. “I’ll remember to save those words for when we’re alone, then.”
I inhaled sharply, my mind conjuring visions of exactly that … and what would come next. No. I wasn’t going to walk into the pack of cameras lurking just through the large wooden doors sporting an obvious erection. I simply wasn’t.
I managed to control the tent in my pants enough to make it through the milling photographers, who thankfully were confined to the warehouse foyer.
When a camera clicked behind me, my stomach lurched. Reluctantly I turned in the direction of the sound.
“Henry! You made it, mate!” River thrust his hand in my direction, and automatically I shook it. The photographer clicked again—a small, dark-haired woman behind it. This must be the official event photographer then. Not a vulture like the pack outside.
A waiter scuttled up offering us champagne flutes. I shook my head.
“I don’t drink,” I explained, as Ri snatched up a glass, taking a sip. The photographer snapped a shot of her.
“It’s zero alcohol, if that helps!” River announced, but I was too busy watching my wife’s throat bob as she swallowed.
An adorable frown creased her brow, and she grimaced up at River. “Is this a dry event?” she asked, her consternation making my lips twitch.
River shrugged. “Never been much of a drinker myself, and … I just think it’s more inclusive this way.”
The camera clicked again, capturing Ri’s horror.
“Henry and Irina, meet Emerald. She’s a very talented photojournalist, who’s doing a profile on Fluss for Earthly Magazine.
” He beamed down at the woman holding the camera.
She scowled back at him before tilting her camera down to check the last shots she’d taken, her silky black hair falling over her face.
“Emerald thinks I’m a bit of a dickhead,” River confided.
Emerald snorted inelegantly. “Thinking implies that it’s just my opinion,” she muttered, adjusting the camera strap around her neck. “It’s a simple fact.”
River’s smile dropped just as Emerald snapped a picture of him, her smile evil and her grey eyes sparkling maliciously.
River watched her go, a perplexed expression on his face. “You’d think I’d pissed in her Weet-Bix, the way she scowls at me.”
“No one has ever disliked you on sight before, have they?” Ri asked, cocking an eyebrow.
River looked stunned. “People do that?”
Ri’s arm slid around my waist, eyes meeting mine, a smile tickling her lips before her gaze flitted away. In that split second, it felt like we were sharing one brain. A brain that whispered, ‘This guy has led a sheltered life, hasn’t he?’
Almost like we were a real couple.
A chime erupted from deep within the building, and I stiffened, jaw clenched against the sudden onslaught of sound. Ri squeezed my waist reassuringly, as River’s mouth fell open.
“Bugger, time got away from me! I’ve gotta get backstage, into my duds and ready to rock the runway!” He rolled his eyes, a goofy grin splitting his face and clapping me on the back before he disappeared.
“Time to go in, Hubby,” Ri murmured. “You okay?”
I blew out a long breath. “As okay as I’m ever going to be …”
The music was even worse than the DJ from the yacht party as we took our front row seats to one side of the runway—loud and arrhythmic and grating.
A headache was already forming at my temples, and my knee bounced agitatedly.
I’d forgotten to pack my gum, and I cursed myself for being so distracted about spending the day with Ri that I’d left home unprepared.
“Here. As long as you don’t mind sharing my earwax,” Ri whispered, subtly handing me an AirPods case.
I took them, stuffing them into my ears.
Immediately the edge of panic subsided as the noise was muted to something much more manageable.
I plucked her hand from her lap and placed it on my restless knee. She squeezed rhythmically.
“How long until it’s over?” I asked, my lips brushing her hair.
“Well, it hasn’t started yet,” she murmured. “But the average runway show is anywhere from ten minutes to half an hour. I’m thinking it will be on the longer side because River will probably want to do a little speech as well.” She glanced around, her bare arm brushing mine.
“The seats aren’t all filled yet, but it’s close, so it’s going to start soon.”
“How are you so knowledgeable about this?” I asked, my never-ending curiosity about this woman eclipsing my discomfort.
She shrugged. “I did some research. I figured it might be good to have some sort of idea about what to expect.”
I wondered if she’d done that, anticipating that I might feel overwhelmed and need reassurance with facts.
“You’re more than I deserve, Catnip.” I covered her hand, still resting on my knee with mine.
She shook her head, a tiny, not quite happy smile playing on her lips. “No, I’m not.” She turned her head to me, her smile widening. “I’m the perfect portion of desserts for you.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t think that means what you think it means.”
Ri rolled her eyes. “Well, what I mean is, you deserve a wife who cares, and who supports you, the way you support me.”
I stared at her, amazed that this woman—who hadn’t known me long at all—somehow understood me better than people who’d been in my life for years.
Being thrown into intimate living quarters might have had something to do with that, but—
“Pizd?!” she hissed, fingers tightening on my knee. “Rumi just walked in.”
“What? Where?” I asked, scanning the growing crowd. Her hand slid up my thigh, and I stilled.
“Other side of the runway, directly opposite us. Shit! Her family is very well connected, I should have guessed she might be here.”
Trying my best to appear casual, I let my eyes rove over the seats across from us. Immediately my gaze found a striking Asian woman, her hair slicked back in a severe ponytail, wearing slim-fitting black pants and a matching blazer.
As if she had a sixth sense, her sharp, dark eyes locked on me, a cold smile sliding into place. I blinked away, hoping it had looked like I’d just been glancing around and not seeking her out specifically.
Pressing a kiss to the top of Ri’s head, I slung my arm around her shoulders,
“Well, we’d better leave her in no doubt that we’re desperately in love,” I breathed against her temple, brushing another kiss there.
Something about my mouth on her skin calmed me, despite the sensory overload of noise and the burgeoning crowd.
It was more than coincidence that this woman would be not only in this same audience but seated where she could glare daggers at us.
“Honestly, if it was socially acceptable to publicly kiss you like a porn star, I’d already be straddling your lap right now,” Ri said with a giggle that was more nervous than amused.
She settled for resting her head against my shoulder. Which was both socially acceptable and had the happy side effect of completely distracting me from this latest debacle.
I could help her right now, just like she’d helped me. Rubbing her arm, I held her close, relishing the warmth of her body leaning into mine. Her hair tickled my arm, but weirdly it didn’t bother me the way soft, tickly sensations often did.
Because it’s her.
I brushed off the silly thought and risked another glance across the runway. The house lights flickered, dimmed, and a set of obnoxious spotlights started sweeping from the stage to the audience and back again.
My breath caught in my throat, and I froze, waiting for the lights to stray over the patch of audience where Rumi was seated. My blood chilled in my veins when I caught a glimpse of the woman who had just taken the seat next to Rumi.
Cadence greeted Ri’s ex like they were old friends, planting European kisses on her cheeks as they chatted. Rumi leaned in, murmuring something into Cadence’s ear, and then the pair of them fixed their stares directly on us.
The music changed, and River’s voice announced, “This is Fluss. Fashion without the fuss. Lifestyle pieces that you can live in. Using sustainably made and sourced fabrics, every piece is made right here in Australia.”
“What the actual fuck is going on right now?” Ri mumbled, straightening.
“Do you mean with the show?” I muttered, tightening my grip on her. “Or—”
“I mean your ex and my ex, looking far too friendly for it to be anything but sinister.”
“Hmm.” There really was nothing more to say about it as models began to strut their way down the runway. I couldn’t focus for too long, because the lights strobed just often enough to make my eyes twitch. All I could make out was a maelstrom of colour.
I focused instead on Ri’s hand on my knee, my stomach swirling at the thought of what Cadence and Rumi might have discussed.
Rumi knew far too much, and she was far too volatile to be trusted.
And the predatory way she watched Ri from across the room was enough to make me want to haul Ri over my shoulder and leave this place, to get her out of those crosshairs.
“We need to find out what she wants,” Ri murmured. “If we just leave here without confronting her, she’s only going to do something even crazier to try to get to me.”
I nodded once, squeezing her tighter to me. She was right, but I didn’t have to like it. If I had my way, Ri would never have to associate with anyone who hurt her. Past, present or future.