The Reluctant Wife: Chapter 11

I sense the surprise ripple through the space between us. Then there’s silence. She doesn’t offer me her sympathies, for which I’m grateful. There have been too many who’ve given me their meaningless condolences. They’ve always felt empty. For nothing could take away the anger and the regret I’ve carried around in my heart since I got the news about Jane’s death. I didn’t mean to share that piece of information with Aura. For a while after Jane was killed on a mission, I literally stopped speaking for a while.

Not only because I was upset by her death, but also because I was relieved that I no longer had to pretend that I loved her. I didn’t have to pretend that we were happy. I didn’t have to pretend that our relationship wasn’t falling apart. And the realization that I wasn’t really sad she was gone—especially after how she betrayed me—made me feel even worse. But how could I explain such a selfish notion to anyone? It was easier to claim I felt responsible for what happened to her. Even easier to blame Q for his part.

The combination of emotions was a lot to process. It still is. My way of coping was by speaking as little as possible, and only when needed. That gave me a lot of time inside of my own head. I still haven’t come to terms with all of it, but I’m beginning to accept it. I don’t hate myself quite as much as I did two years ago, and I’m finding it harder to maintain a grudge against Quentin.

And I certainly don’t talk about my past with people I’ve just met.

So why did I open up to Aura? Do I trust her enough? Is it the attraction between us addling my decision making? Or did my subconscious lull me into a false sense of being comfortable around her? Enough that I could confide in her?

Either way, I’ve crossed another line in our professional relationship, and I’m pissed with myself for that. Also, I don’t want to talk about Jane with her. So, I pull out my phone and feign an interest in my email.

She doesn’t intrude. Then after a few seconds, she does the same. The car inches through the city traffic. I directed the team to take a convoluted route to our destination. I’m not taking any chances with having anyone following us.

It’s another forty-five minutes before we’re drawing up to the hotel. This one’s set in a quiet side-street on the edge of Regent’s Park. It’s also so exclusive that there are no signs indicating it’s a hotel.

As soon as the car draws to a stop, I push the door open and jump out, then walk around to open hers. She slides her handbag over her shoulder, then straightens. She takes a few steps into the middle of the sidewalk in front of the two-story Victorian building, raises her arms in the air and stretches. Then bends over to touch her feet, giving me a view of her pear-shaped behind stretching the skirt of the dress she’s wearing.

I remind myself I need to stop ogling her perfect butt, but I’m unable to look away.

Cole and Brian are already ahead of us, scoping out the area. Once more, Cole takes the lead, I walk next to her, and Brian brings up the rear. We guide her toward the side-entrance where another member of my team is holding the door open. Then, it’s to the private elevator which whisks us to the top floor.

It’s one of the reasons I chose this hotel. Her comings and goings can be private. There will be no hotel housekeeping staff allowed onto the floor either. Instead, I’ve organized a team of cleaners who I screened to carry out those duties.

As for room service? One of my men will deliver the orders and stay while the food is prepared, then deliver them to us. I’m not leaving anything to chance.

‘What about my clothes? My luggage?’ she asks without looking up from her phone.

‘It’s been taken care of.’

‘Of course, it has.’ Her voice is caustic.

Cole and Brian exchange glances, but I don’t allow my expression to vary. I sense she’s finding the changes unsettling, and that’s understandable. If it helps her to take out her frustrations on me, that’s fine.

When we reach the floor I booked out as a precaution, Cole leads the way to the double doors at the end of the corridor. On either side, we pass rooms where the rest of the team will be staying. When we reach the entrance to the room, I touch her shoulder and say softly, ‘Let Cole give the all-clear.’

‘You think there might be someone waiting in there for me?’ She looks at me with a disbelieving expression on her face.

‘Best not to take a chance.’

She scoffs, then moves aside so my fingers slide off her arm. She’s putting distance between us… Which is what I wanted. Let her think I’m still in love with my deceased wife. Plus, she’s probably annoyed that I didn’t give her advance notice about the changes I made to her security detail and the hotel. I wanted her to be pissed off enough with me that she wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me. And it looks like I’ve succeeded. So why do I feel bereft?

Cole walks out of the suite and nods to me. ‘It’s safe.’

Before the words are out of his mouth, she’s stomped inside the suite.

Once again, Cole and Brian exchange glances, but don’t say anything. I appreciate their silence.

While I may have ensured she wants to keep her distance from me, it also means I’m not going to get her to cooperate willingly. The beginning of a headache drums behind my eyes, and I push it away. I follow her inside the suite which houses both our rooms and shut the door behind me.

She walks to the bedroom. I stand in the doorway. I should head on to my own room but I’m unable to move away. I can keep telling myself that I will not cross the line with her, but I can’t stop myself from wanting to be in her presence. Anything to be close to her. To draw in her scent. To watch her graceful movements.

She throws her bag on the bed, kicks off her stilettos, then reaches behind her and begins to lower the zipper of her dress.

Get out of here. You shouldn’t be here. I stay frozen to the spot. I can’t take my gaze off the strip of skin she bares, and then there’s the swatch of pink satin visible from between the zipper teeth. Is that the strap of her bra? Holy hell that is her bra. The blood rushes to my groin. My cock extends.

I should make a noise and protest. I should tell her that she’s my principal, and this is all wrong. But my throat is too dry. The words I’m trying to form get stuck in my gullet. The connection between my brain and my tongue seems to have been severed. I can’t stop staring as she begins to slide her dress down one arm. And when the curve of her shoulder is bared, a jolt of lust pulses through my veins.

I’m so hard that the length of my cock stabs into the zipper of my pants. A bead of sweat slides down my temple. I want to move, but my feet are stuck to the carpet. I curl my fingers into fists at my side, willing myself to look away. This is wrong. She’s teasing me. Taunting me. Showing me what I’m missing.

I want to strip the clothes from her and take in every inch of that soft skin. I yearn to have her naked and writhing under me as I drag my knuckles across the curve of her hips, over her fleshy backside, and down the seam of the melting triangle between her legs. My shoulder muscles turn to boulders. My thigh muscles feel like they’ve turned into concrete. I’m so fucking turned on, every cell in my body seems to have turned into sparks of electricity.

Then she turns and glances at me over her shoulder. Her eyes are big, blue seas of want, her lips are parted, her breath comes in small pants, and I realize she’s as turned on as I am. Her gaze clashes with mine, and whatever she sees there draws a moan from her lips. She pauses in the act of pushing the dress off her other shoulder. The first is already bared, with the dress caught in the crook of her elbow. She’s unable to proceed further.

I glare at her, and the color fades from her cheeks. Her shoulders rise and fall. She’s waiting…waiting…for me to tell her what to do next. She may have started this act of her undressing to get a response out of me, and she succeeded, but she’s unable to move further without my command. I stay silent, not responding to her seduction, and her expression turns uncertain. Her features pale further. She forces down a swallow, her throat visibly constricting. Then she lowers her arm to her side, and finally her gaze.

There you are.

She might come across as defiant, obstinate, and willful, and no doubt, she’d have to be all of that to survive being in the public eye. She’d have to have a mind of her own to make it through the trials of being born into the Royal Family, where the path of her life was decided for her even before she was conceived. We’re similar, in that regard.

We both come from privileged backgrounds. We’ve carried the weight of expectation on our shoulders. We’ve had to struggle hard to find ourselves, to carve out our own identities, in the face of being told very clearly what we can and cannot do. Only difference is that I like to be in control. I need to be in charge, whether it was leading my platoon or driving a mission, and now, when it comes to sex.

This became more important after the nightmare of being on the front lines. I got together with Jane under pressure cooker conditions while on a tour of duty. By the time I realized it didn’t feel the same when we were between missions, we were married.

And though I tried to give our relationship my best shot, whatever little chemistry had been between us fizzled out. We fought all the time. I knew we needed to get a divorce, but I kept putting it off.

The guilt of wanting her out of my life, then having that wish come true, in the most final way possible, made me feel terrible. I took turns blaming myself for what happened to her, then blaming Q for sending her to her death. Only, he was doing his duty. I get that now.

He didn’t realize his choices would end in so many deaths. Logically, I know I’m not to blame for Jane’s actions, either. But I wanted her out of my life, so it’s easier for me to forgive Q than myself.

Either way, it’s enough to put me off future relationships. I don’t deserve love with someone else, and I don’t want to be betrayed again. I refuse to trust anyone else again and risk being hurt.

I can’t deny that the carnal side of me desires Aura. But she’s my principal, and that changes everything. I promised her father I’d protect her, and until I find the person behind that threatening note and complete my mission, I will not touch her.

A trembling grips her. I slide my jacket off, walk over to her and drape it over her shoulders. ‘I don’t fuck innocent little girls; and definitely not those who like to top from the bottom.’