The Reluctant Wife: Chapter 2

Soft. And sweet. Like honey, powdered sugar, and candy. Her taste pours through my veins and lights up my blood. My heart begins to thud in my chest. My pulse rate heightens. I swipe my tongue over hers, and the taste of her intensifies. I haul her closer and her scent—like honeysuckle, vanilla and strawberries—invades my senses. My mouth waters. The blood drains to my lower belly. Fire zips down my spine.

This. Her. Here. I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. I’ve been waiting for her forever, and I hadn’t been aware. I need her. I want her. I have yearned for her. She is the antidote to my past. She is the reason I’m alive. She is why I was awarded a fresh lease on life when I knew I shouldn’t have been spared at war. She’s my second chance.

I feel like I’ve been drowning since the day Jane was killed on mission two years ago. I feel guilty I never loved her. Guilty that I was tired of the constant bickering in our marriage and wanted her gone. And when she died, the sense of relief I felt made me feel like some kind of monster. If we hadn’t fought that day, she wouldn’t have left on the mission that killed her. I hold myself responsible for that. Not even the fact that she betrayed me lessens the blame I’ve lived with since.

I punished myself by shutting down. I locked myself off. Never noticed another woman… Until now.

I firm my grip around the nape of her neck; she shivers.

I flatten my hand across her back, and her entire being shudders. So responsive. So pliant. She was made for me. Sensations course through my veins. I haul her closer, and when she whimpers, a fierceness grips me. She’s mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. I growl deep in my throat and am rewarded when she melts further into me. She throws her arms around my neck and arches into my embrace. I allow myself to drink of her, to revel in her closeness. I know she must be aware of how I’m responding to her, but I’m unable to stop myself. I need her too much. I need her more than anyone I’ve ever met before and—I tear my mouth from hers. What’s wrong with me?

Why am I thinking like this? I stare down into her shining eyes. It’s like I’m looking into the heart of the very earth. A safe space. A place I can call home. I shake my head to clear it.

What bizarre thoughts are these? I’ve never felt this moved before. This touched in a way that makes me feel vulnerable, like I’ve exposed my deepest secrets to another. I cannot allow myself to feel this way. It’s wrong. I release her so suddenly, she gasps. Her eyes round with surprise. The color rises on her cheeks.

The next moment, she pushes past me and, stepping between two groups of people, she heads for the door. For a few seconds, I watch her retreat. Then, as if we’re tethered, I stalk after her. I muscle my way through the crowd, and those in front of me move aside as if sensing my impatience. Good thing, too.

I’m not sure why I’m so affected by her. I’m not sure why I feel like she means something to me already. I just met her. I don’t even know her name.

I never felt this way about the woman I was married to… Being drawn so powerfully to someone else in a way I never was to her makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong. But I’m not; I know that. Yet each time my heart races at this new attraction, guilt follows closely behind, whispering about the past.

My steps slow down until I come to a halt. I watch as the woman who called me her husband heads out of the bar area and down the hallway.

She disappears from sight. My heart drops into my stomach. A strange nervousness grips me. An emptiness squeezes my chest. My breath sticks in my throat. It’s as if I’ve lost a part of myself. I shouldn’t follow her. But my feet don’t seem capable of obeying the commands from my brain. I move forward, and when I step into the hallway, I spot her at the main exit that leads out onto the side.

As if she senses my presence, she looks at me over her shoulder. There’s a challenge in her eyes. Eh? What is she up to? What is she—? She bypasses the exit and continues down the corridor.

I should let her leave and relish meeting her as a nice memory. After all, I don’t know her. I’ve only just met her. I stand there, clenching and unclenching my fists. The next thing I know, I’m in motion. I take off hot on her heels.

I take in the sway of her hips under the dress she’s wearing. It clings to her curves and reaches halfway down her thighs. The three-inch heels she’s wearing draw attention to her shapely ankles. A thrill of anticipation pulses under my skin. Sweat pools under my armpits. I raise my gaze in time to catch her gathering her hair over a shoulder.

The creamy expanse of her back bared by the deeply cut ‘V’ of her dress has me entranced. She passes the line of women waiting for the ladies’ room and continues until she reaches the door that must open out onto the back alley. When she steps through, I’m right behind her. The door slams shut. The sound echoes around the empty space. It sends a shudder of something through her—anticipation, fear? A mixture of both? She pauses. And when I place my hand on her shoulder, she shivers.

When I run my hand down the expanse of skin revealed by the plunging back neckline of the dress, she sighs. I slide my hand down the arch of her back. I want her so much. I want to push her up against the wall, lean into her and draw in her scent. And her skin— I swallow. That gossamer-fine, satiny-plush, buttery-smooth skin of hers. One touch and it’d stop the devil himself in his tracks. I’m only human. I pull her up against me, and she gasps.

I lower my head and drag my whiskered chin up the side of her neck. She shudders. And when I bite down on the lobe of her ear, she whines. The sound cuts through the haze in my mind. I raise my head and look around the empty alley. There are dumpsters opposite us, lined up like sentinels. A dog barks in the distance. The faint sound of voices, then a muffled crash as something breaks, reaches us through the door at our back. I wince. Then twist her around to face me.

She looks up into my face. And I know then, I must have her. Just one night; then I’ll let her go. It’s only to assuage this burning need inside of me. The kind I forgot I was capable of feeling.

‘Come home with me,’ I growl.

Her gaze widens, then she shakes her head. ‘I can’t.’

‘Why not? You want this. So do I.’ I knit my brows. ‘Unless I read your signals wrong?’

She blinks rapidly.

My heart sinks a little. I didn’t realize, until now, how much I want this woman. I force myself to push aside my despair and focus on her features, ‘Did I read your signals wrong?” I prompt her.

She shakes her head. ‘I do want you.”

The tension in my shoulders bleeds out.

She sets her jaw. “But I can’t wait.’ Before the full impact of her words sinks in, she jumps up. I catch her. She wraps her legs around my waist. ‘Here’—she pants—’right here.’

I hesitate.

She rises up, throws her arms about my neck and holds on. ‘I want you.’ Her lips tremble. ‘Please.’

Her soft whisper slithers down my spine. My heart rate spikes. I turn and, shielding her back with the palm of my hand, I press her into the wall near the door we came through. She must sense the evidence of my need, for her lips part, then she raises her chin. I lower mine. Our mouths clash.

The kiss is everything the earlier one promised and more, so much more. Her taste permeates my senses; her scent fills my nostrils. The feel of her in my arms is heaven. I tilt my head and drink from her, feel the barrenness in my chest absorb the sensations and come to life.

Once again, I feel this…meeting is not trivial. It’s meant to be so much more than this. More than a chance encounter. More than a fumbling fuck in an alleyway. I pull back and, chest heaving, stare into her flushed features. Her eyelids flutter open, and she looks back with dilated pupils. Her fiery red strands have fallen over her forehead, and something in the angle at which she’s staring at me sends a ripple of awareness up my spine. ‘Have I met you before?’ I frown.

She startles, then panic filters into her eyes. ‘Of course, not.’ She half laughs. The sound is feeble, and a flash of guilt laces her features. She pushes against my chest, and I let her down, taking a step back. I steady her until she finds her footing, then stay in place until she’s put her clothes to right.

‘You know what? Forget it.’ She tosses her head, ‘I don’t think I want you, after all.’

I allow a small smirk to curl my features and am rewarded by her glower.

‘That’s not what I read on your features earlier, Princess,’ I scoff.

An expression of alarm comes over her. Huh?

‘What’s wrong, you—’ I grunt when she kicks me in the shin. It’s not that it’s painful as much as she takes me by surprise. Enough to distract me. So, when she darts past me, I don’t stop her. By the time I recover and hurry after her, she’s reached the mouth of the alley. It’s the anxiety I saw on her face earlier that has me concerned. I don’t think I said anything to warrant it. She was into me. She wanted it as much as I did. But something happened to make her anxious. And I need to understand what it was. At the very least, I need to make sure she gets home safely.

I run after her, turning the corner to find her racing up the sidewalk, past the entrance to the bar. I run toward her, then pause when she reaches a stately Jaguar with tinted windows and slips into the driver’s seat. The car feels too formal for her, yet its elegance also befits her.

I rub at my temple. Who is this mystery woman? One who looks like an angel and smells like heaven—yet had the presence of mind to pretend I was her husband to get rid of unwanted attention—but kisses like a siren.

She’s so full of contradictions, so full of life, so enticing that, surely, I won’t be able to forget her. It’s the first time a woman has made such an impression on me. The car drives past. The window on the driver’s side lowers, and her gaze meets mine.

Despite the darkness, there’s enough light from the streetlamp to light up her features. Her eyes sparkle like the color of bluebells after rain, like the richness of blue diamonds. Something so precious, so rare. My heart skips a beat. Our gazes hold. The chemistry sparks across the distance. Then she throws me a kiss.

The gesture is so saucy that I bark out a surprised laugh and pretend to catch it. The car pulls ahead, and she’s out of sight. The taillights disappear around the corner. What a woman!

Slowly, the sounds of the city filter back into my consciousness, and with it, the breath I hadn’t been aware I was holding whistles out. A flurry of wind catches some scraps of paper, lifting them into a whirlwind, causing them to dance in circles. Like my life. Like this emptiness left behind. I glance down and see my hand over my heart. Damn, I’m not given to maudlin gestures such as this. One kiss, and she’s reduced me to a bumbling Romeo. I shove my hand into the pocket of my jeans.

It’s not like me to give into such fanciful thinking. Whoever she was, she’s gone. Good riddance. I’ll never see her again. Never feel the press of those gorgeous lips against mine. Good thing, too. I don’t have time for such distractions. I’ve sworn never to allow myself to be this susceptible again. I’ll never allow myself to feel for another. Not after what I’ve been through. And yet—the way she felt in my arms. The way she molded herself to me. Those curves of hers that felt so right. So vital. So…everything. I shake my head. She’s gone. Time for me to move on and put her out of my mind.

My phone buzzes. I pull it out of my pocket and bark, ‘What?’

‘Be ready to report for your assignment at oh-six-hundred hours,’ my uncle’s voice barks down the line.

It’s as if I’m back in the Marines, and he’s my commander. Only, I’m not, and neither is he.

‘I haven’t said I’m accepting the task,” I remind him.

‘Cut the crap,” he scoffs. “It’s not like you have other options.’

‘Not like joining a fledgling security agency yet to establish itself is an option.”

He laughs. ‘My reputation precedes me.’

Only a fool would take Quentin Davenport at face value. His tone masks an edge of steel. Q was the first in our family to join the Marines. It set an example for me and my brothers to follow. And all of us, except the youngest, Connor, joined the armed forces. And each of us retired after giving our best years to the service. None of us regret it. Though, dealing with the guilt of living while so many of others didn’t is something I’m not sure I’ll be over anytime soon.

‘You’re not going to join the Davenport group. At least, you’re smart enough to not make that mistake,’ he admits. Q, like my older brothers Nathan and Knox, gave it a shot. But while both stayed on as CEOs of group companies, Q resigned his role. He agreed to stay on the board but channeled his efforts into setting up his security agency.

When I heard about it, it felt like a viable alternative to riding a desk—a possibility which has zero appeal. I squeeze my fingers around my phone.

Q is responsible for giving the order that resulted in Jane’s death and that of her battalion on a tour of duty. When I learned this about my uncle, I vowed revenge. Then, I discovered he wasn’t aware they were at the enemy site he’d given the orders to take out. I had it verified by other sources, too—he wasn’t at fault. He’s since apologized for his role in the matter. So, am I going to consider his offer?

‘If I’m being honest, you’d do me a favor by accepting this,’ he murmurs.

I let out a derisive chuckle. ‘Laying it on thick, aren’t you?’

Q huffs out a laugh. ‘Of course, if you’re not ready to take on a role that you could perform with your eyes closed, then I understand. Perhaps, you need more downtime to take care of your mental health…’

The last thing I need is more time off. Frankly, I’m itching to be on a mission… Any mission. I miss the discipline of the Marines. I miss having a purpose. Former Commanding Officer that he is, Quentin Davenport is shrewd enough to know this. But I still have issues working with him. I hesitate.

On the other hand, he’s right. I have no other option; nothing else lined up. And the need to wake up and know I’m going to be of service, albeit for a private client, is a lure I can’t resist. I need something to get my mind off the past. Something to help me re-focus my attention. Something to test if I still have the edge. It’s too attractive. It’s why I snap out, ‘I haven’t forgiven you.’

‘I don’t expect you to.’ He blows out a breath. ‘But you need a goal, an objective to keep you going—’ he says, unknowingly echoing my thoughts. ‘And I need good men I can count on. Besides, you don’t want your training to go to waste. If there’s one thing I know about you, Ryot Davenport, it’s that you want to continue to protect those in need. But do you have the guts to accept this challenge? Do you have the courage to rise above your past and commit to moving on? Do you’—he hesitates—’do you have the fortitude to not just survive but to live once again?”