Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“Yes. It’s tacky. Do better. Have a nice day.” She turns and leaves.
I grumble to myself, but Casey’s got a point. I’ve been busy feeling sorry for myself, and haven’t considered some of Fallon’s needs. My wife isn’t a prisoner—not exactly, anyway—and she’s allowed to communicate with people back home. I call up my secretary and order her to drop everything. “Make sure my wife has the best, and get it here as soon as possible.”
Around lunch, after a few more updates from Max, the phone and laptop arrives. “Unlimited international calls, texts, emails, whatever,” my secretary says as she hurries off.
I carry the stuff to our condo. I’m not sure why I’m delivering it myself—I’ve got plenty of people that can do this for me—but I want to see Fallon’s face. I let her sleep in the guest room again the night before, even if that’s against my own rules, mostly because we had a really intense encounter and I feel like she needs some time to process.
She doesn’t believe me about the club. That’s pretty obvious. She’s got this idea about the Costa family, and it doesn’t matter if I’m right. There’s this picture in her head of how the war shaped up, and that doesn’t include her family as the aggressors.
I find my wife in my bedroom. She’s in the bathroom, the door shut. The bed looks rumpled, as if she was just taking a nap. “Are you busy?” I ask as I knock.
The water’s running. A bath or a shower, I can’t be sure. “Well, the door’s shut and locked and I’m in the bathroom, so yes.”
“Thank you for that sarcasm. I brought you some things.”
“Like what?”
“A phone with an international plan. A laptop.”
A short pause. “Did Casey put you up to this?”
I grimace. That must be pretty obvious. “Yes, but I didn’t have to.”
“Right. Great. Thank you. Leave it on the bed, please.”
I hesitate. I want to kick it open and stare at her body, at her lovely skin and pouty lips, but that’ll only make things worse. Instead, I lean my forehead against the door, wondering how the hell I found myself in this position. Married to a girl I hate but also want to fuck in equal measure, confused to all hell. Wracked with guilt.
“Tonight, I want you sleeping with me.” I wait for a reply, but there isn’t one. I’m not sure she heard, so I say it louder.
“I’d rather not.”
“You got an extra night. Now I’m going to be firm.”
“And if I resist?”
“You know what will happen.”
“A repeat of yesterday. You’re going to pin me down and touch me in ways you shouldn’t.”
I shiver, closing my eyes. “Yes. You’re exactly right. Is that incentive for you to fight?”
“No. I’ll play along.”
“Alright. Good.” Except part of me wants her to resist. I want her dirty mouth, her defiance. I want that fire burning between us. “Have a nice bath.”
I turn to leave, but I hear my name. “Jayson.” The water stops. I hear something else, the sound of someone moving around. Then the door opens. I step back, surprised. It’s Fallon wearing only a towel. Her hair damp, her skin dewy and perfect. She stares at me, glances at the devices on the bed, and nods slightly. Her ears bright pink. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
We watch each other for another beat before she closes the bathroom door. It locks with an audible thud. “Now go away, please.”
I smile to myself as I leave my audacious wife to bathe in peace.
Chapter 17
Fallon
He almost caught me.
I was elbow-deep in the filing cabinets when I heard the front door open. I had to throw myself into the bathroom and turn on the water. But as I was in there, and he was talking about sleeping in his bed, I realized something: I forgot to lock the door behind me.
If he happened to look around the room, he might’ve noticed that things were slightly askew, and maybe he could’ve put two and two together—
Which is why I threw on a towel, wet my hair, and opened that door.
I wanted to distract him.
Give him something to think about, instead of why there’s a folder tucked under the covers.
But the moment I did it, I really wished I hadn’t.
Because of the look he gave me. It dripped with desire and sparkled with lust. That same look again, the one that drives me absolutely insane.
I can’t tell what it means. He wants to fuck me—that’s pretty obvious—but I don’t understand why. Jayson should be able to find a pretty girl basically whenever he wants one. A mouth to make him happy, a pussy to keep him satisfied.
Why does he keep looking at me like I’m something special?
I bothers me more than I like to admit as I hide a stack of files in a bag and head down to the business center.