The Reluctant Wife: Chapter 14

He’s agreed to take me out, which is awesome. But what caused him to change his mind? He’s been insisting I stay inside every evening. And initially, he refused to let me go out to dinner tonight. Then, he offers to do so himself?

My head spins. He’s so confusing. I could have sworn I felt that iron control of his thaw. I thought he was going to kiss me, but he settled for a peck on my forehead. Not that it matters; the touch of his lips sparked goosebumps on my skin.

Maybe none of it matters. I’m getting to go out with him. It’s not a date. He said it’s not a date. But it sure feels like one. I can’t stop myself from doing a little skip as I jump into the shower. I’m going out with my hottie, tall, dark, and brooding bodyguard and that makes me so happy.

And yes, he was right when he pointed out I find his bossy attitude a huge turn on. When he told me what I should wear, liquid heat pooled between my legs. My stomach flip-flopped. My nipples turned into points of need. My body reacted to his words with an excitement that caught me by surprise. In case it wasn’t already obvious, I’m not the kind of woman who hands over control willingly. But with Ryot…

The chemistry clouds my brain and sharpens my instincts at the same time. With Ryot… The thought of having him command me and take charge turns me on. It also pisses me off. Why does it have to be the most closed-off, unapproachable, unreachable man I’ve ever met who has this effect on me? And why do I have to be so attracted to him? And why do I find myself fantasizing he’s the royal I’ll be marrying? It’s ridiculous. And why is it that every part of me wants to please him by arriving at the elevator at the time he specified?

All the more reason not to obey him.

I take half-an-hour to get dressed. Really, who can get dressed in ten minutes, amiright? Didn’t stop me from following his directions in terms of what to wear though, huh? I survey my reflection.

I’m wearing my favorite blouse, jeans, a leather jacket, and a pair of Doc Martins. I slip my phone into the pocket of my jeans. On impulse, I push the jacket off my shoulders and throw it aside. I grab my cross-body purse, then flounce out of the suite.

I nod at the two men posted there. Then walk down the corridor to where he’s waiting for me next to the elevator. He’s wearing worn combat boots, faded jeans and a chambray shirt, over which he has his own leather jacket that’s seen better days. He’s also carrying a smaller one in his hand. When he spots me, he holds it out.

My jaw drops. ‘How did you know⁠—’

‘That you wouldn’t wear a jacket?’ His lips twist. ‘You’re so predictable, Princess.’

‘I’m not predictable.’ It was just a lame attempt at rebellion. For some reason I feel compelled to test boundaries with this man. I should have known he’d never let me get away with it. I stuff one arm into the jacket sleeve, then the other.

He smooths the jacket over my shoulders, then punches the button of the elevator. The cage arrives at once.

When the doors open, he gestures for me to enter and follows.

I cross my arms over my chest. ‘I’m. Not. Predictable.’ I feel the need to protest. Predictable is boring. And if there’s one thing I’ve tried to make sure I’m not, it’s boring.

His lips twitch. ‘How did I know I’d have to carry a jacket for you?’

‘Lucky guess?’ I grumble.

When a chuckle rolls up his throat, I stare. The sound is so warm, so masculine, it sends a cascade of sensations coursing through my bloodstream. Also, he’s smiling, and it lights up his face and reveals a tiny dimple in his left cheek. Ugh, he cannot be that perfect to look at, can he?

“By the way, I completed screening your team, and everyone checks out,” he rumbles.

“That’s a relief.” Some of the tension falls off my shoulders. Guess I was more stressed than I realized about the possibility that someone from within my team could have been responsible for that note.

“I alerted your closest team-members that you are not to be disturbed this evening. I’ve told them where to reach us in case anything urgent comes up.”

That’s thoughtful of him. “Thank you,” I murmur, ‘although it would be nice if I knew where we’d be.’ He just smirks.

When the elevator doors open, he steps out. I follow him to the side-entrance. Brian, who’s been waiting by the door, pushes it open. He, too, is dressed in boots, jeans and a jacket. When I walk out, I find Cole dressed similarly, standing by a bike.

He hands a helmet to Ryot and one to me, then goes over to the bike in front and, retrieving his own helmet, pulls it on. Brian follows suit and straddles the bike behind us. Ryot straps on his helmet, raises the visor, then throws his leg over the Ducati.

‘Hop on.’ He pats the seat behind him.

What the—? I stare with my mouth open. Riding behind Ryot on that mean-looking machine is the last way I imagined this evening would unfold. I’ve always wanted to ride a motorbike, but so far, have never had the opportunity. I couldn’t buy one because: one, I couldn’t bring myself to spend that much money, and two, I’d never be allowed to buy one. And even if I somehow managed to do so, I’d never be allowed to ride it.

I approach him, eying the machine and the gorgeous man astride it with suspicion. “How did you guess⁠—”

“That you’ve never been on a bike before but have always wanted to?” He grins, looking all too pleased with himself. “Another lucky guess?”

Whoa. The flash of his white teeth against his lips sends a spurt of need spiraling in my belly. “No, seriously, tell me. How did you know I’d love to get on a bike?”

He scans my features. “You wanted to get ice cream from a fast-food chain when you could have asked for one from any gourmet restaurant or brand, but you didn’t.”

“So?” I frown.

“Then, there’s the fact that you love driving your own car because it gives you a feeling of being free.” He shrugs. “It wasn’t a stretch to conclude that you’d love being on a bike.” Something in his eyes makes my heart skip a beat.

He was paying attention to me. He noticed my quirks and my reactions. He spent time thinking about what I’d like to do. He might have offered to get me out of the hotel because of pity and, perhaps, a sense of responsibility to keep me, as his principal, entertained—enough so I’d be more amenable to toeing the line with his security measures.

But offering to take me on his bike? That…is something he planned for.

A boatload of emotions squishes inside my chest. I stand there, staring at him dumbly, unable to move. What does this mean? Does it mean anything? Am I reading too much into his gesture?

‘Get on, Princess. I know you want to.’ Was that supposed to sound so suggestive? He hits the ignition, and the bike roars to life. The sound throbs through my veins and settles in my bones; it shoots a burst of excitement up my spine. Damn. He’s actually going to take me for a ride? My heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my ribcage. I’m pathetically happy, and that gives me pause. Also, I want to put up a token protest, so he doesn’t think I’m going to obey everything he says—even though that’s probably the truth.

‘Why can’t I drive the bike?” I tip up my chin. “Why do I have to sit behind you?”

‘Because it’s my bike?’ He revs the bike again. ‘Coming or not?’ I move toward the bike, and he guns it forward.

I stumble back. ‘What the hell?’

He smirks. ‘Sorry about that.’

He doesn’t sound sorry, at all. Asshole. I gauge the distance toward the bike, then take a step toward it. Once again, he allows the bike to jump forward.

‘Ryot, what are you doing?’ I slap my hands on my hips and glower at him.

He laughs. It’s a full-throated, very manly laugh that has me looking at him in amazement. This playful side of him is one I have not seen before. Is this how he was before he became a Marine. Before he lost his wife? Was he this carefree? This spirited… This roguish? Oh god. He’s so damn sexy like this. Also, my pussy is now completely wet. I wish I could feel the vibrations from that laugh between my legs. I bet I’d come just from that sensation. Also, why can’t I stop thinking of his head between my thighs? And this when he’s treated me so…so…normally? He doesn’t give a shit that I’m a princess. He’s not polite around me. He doesn’t hold himself in check. He speaks his mind. He tells me what to do. He tells me off. He reprimands me. Chastises me. Cajoles me into doing exactly what he wants. And…I love it.

Butterflies take flight in my chest. I close the distance to his bike and straddle the seat behind him.

‘Hold on. And make sure you lean into the turns when I do.’ He reaches behind to grab the back of my thigh and pulls me snug against him. I’m now hugging his thighs with mine. And my core is flush against his very tight, very hard backside. I lock my arms about his waist. His lean, sculpted waist; I can feel his chiseled abs through the leather of his jacket. Then he guns his bike, and it leaps forward.

With a squeak, I tighten my hold about him. I sense him chuckle again. And when he slides onto the road and races forward, exhilaration bubbles in my blood. Cole zooms off ahead of us on another bike, and Brian keeps pace behind us on his.

We might be on bikes, but he’s keeping his security formation. I can’t help but be impressed. He’s not going to compromise my safety, even now. We weave through traffic. When we get on the highway, he guns the bike forward. I whoop. The freedom. The thrill. The edge. The brush with danger that being on the bike brings spikes my blood with adrenaline. I’m out of that hotel room. I’m free. Ryot zips past a few cars, then a truck, and exhilaration bubbles up my throat. I’m on a bike, and no one passing by knows I’m the Princess of Verenza. I’m just another girl holding my man tightly as we head out to who-knows-where.

I cling to him, allowing myself to relax so my body flows with his. We ride for about half an hour, then he takes the next turn off, and my body leans into the turn with his. We continue down another road, then emerge onto one that skirts the Thames. In the distance, I can see Tower Bridge, or London Bridge, as it is wrongly called by tourists.

He slows down as we near it, but instead of stopping in front of it, he turns into a side road. A few more minutes, and he pulls up in front of a doorway. He switches off the engine and kicks down the stand. I jump off without waiting for him and notice that Cole has already parked his bike to the side. He walks over to stand by the doorway. Brian comes to a stop a few feet behind us. He dismounts and walks past Cole, then through the doorway.

I’m about to follow him, but Ryot stops me with a touch on my elbow. ‘Let him make sure it’s safe.’

Pinpricks of awareness course out from the point of contact. I pull away, studying the quiet street. It seems to be residential with overhanging trees. There are a few cars parked up the road, but other than that, there’s no one around.

Why did he bring me here? It doesn’t look like the entrance to a restaurant. Some of my excitement fizzles away. I thought he was bringing me somewhere special, but this looks like an ordinary London house. My shoulders droop. Disappointment coils in my belly, but I shake it off. At least, I’m not eating dinner from room service while watching TV. That has to count for something, right? I’m outside. I just rode on a motorcycle with my body wrapped around Ryot’s!

I take a deep breath, relishing the fresh air, so different from the recycled hotel air I’ve been breathing over the last week.

Before I can ask Ryot where he’s taking me, Brian walks out of the doorway and nods. He holds the door open, and Ryot indicates I should move forward.

I step into the hallway and realize the space is bigger than it seemed from the outside. There’s a winding staircase that leads up to a landing, and above that is a roof with skylights set into it. He brushes past me and walks up the staircase. ‘Careful, the steps are a little steep,’ he warns.

I follow him, trying to keep my eyes off his butt and failing. Bet he stares at mine when I walk in front of him, too. I’ve felt his eyes on me. I push that thought away. I follow Ryot onto the landing on the second floor and through the short hallway through what seems to be the door to an apartment.

When I step in, my breath catches. It is an apartment… But there’s no furniture. Except for a table set for two with a candle in the center and two chairs, both angled toward a stunning view. And what a view it is! Massive floor-to-ceiling windows frame a view of the Thames and the beautifully lit Tower Bridge in all its glory.

‘Wow.’ I hook my jacket on the coat rack and deposit my purse on the entryway table. Then walk past Ryot toward the window. I come to a stop next to the table and take in the sight of the iconic landmark. My breath catches.

Ryot—who’s also taken off his jacket—walks up to stand next to me. For a few seconds, we gaze at the monument.

‘I’ve never seen it from this viewpoint before,’ I whisper.

‘It’s a secret,’ he says in a soft voice.

‘Thanks for sharing it with me.’ For some reason, tears drum at the backs of my eyes, and I blink them away. I don’t know why I’m feeling this emotional. Maybe, it’s the fact that the spectacle of the London bridge is so breathtaking? Or it’s that he was thoughtful enough to arrange for me to see it? ‘It’s beautiful.’ I whisper.

‘It is.’

Something in his voice makes me shoot a sharp glance in his direction, and our gazes hold. And connect.

Instantly, the air between us heats. My heart seems to descend to the space between my legs, the pulse loud and insistent. I sway toward him, and Ryot… He leans in. He lowers his head, I raise mine, when footsteps sound.

‘Good to see you, Ryot.’

I spring back, but not before I catch the annoyance and the disappointment on Ryot’s face. It’s my only consolation for not being able to see that kiss through to fruition. I turn to find a tall man with dark hair and intense features looking between us.

‘Princess Aurelia.’ He bows. ‘James Hamilton, at your service.’

He turns to Ryot, then closes the distance to him and slaps him on the shoulder. ‘Davenport, about time you crawled out of the hole you’ve been hiding in.’

Ryot jerks his chin, then the two of them shake hands. ‘Thanks for doing this on such short notice.’

‘Anything for you, man.’

A glance passes between the two, then it’s James’ turn to nod. He turns to me. ‘Ready for dinner?’