I reasoned the desire away with excuses about using him to ease the tension and to get the most out of our agreement, but they didn’t sit right. The words not lining up with the warm eagerness sliding through my veins when I imagined finding him on the corner of the couch, reading, an ankle resting on his knee, his shirt sleeves rolled up, baring tan, veined arms, backlit by the twinkling city lights of the skyline behind him.
No, the words didn’t line up with the thrilling jolt of excitement when I thought of going home, but if I wanted to get there, I needed to get back to work.
Which meant I didn’t have time to acknowledge the quiet voice whispering concerns that I should be careful with those feelings. Instead, I continued with my plan to show my father that I could be the CEO this company needed by working my ass off. That plan, now, happened to have the added benefit of leaving work early.
Nothing at all to do with Lucian.
CHAPTER 3
LUCIAN
Aspen arrived home with a subtle click of the lock. After that, each sound built in a crescendo, warning of the chaotic storm headed my way.
The slam of the door.
The clang of her keys against the entryway table.
The sharp strike of her heels clicking to the same beat as the jazz music playing through the speakers. Increasing in tempo and force, the closer she got.
The thud of her bumping into something, followed by an adorably grumbled swear word in Spanish.
All of it grew until she stormed into the kitchen with a final huff of irritation, looking entirely too put together for someone most likely leaving a trail of fire in her wake.
I stood at the stovetop and watched her over my shoulder. “Bad day?” I asked once she reached my side.
With another huff, she rested her hip against the counter and crossed her arms. “You would not fucking believe it.”
“Want to talk about it?” As soon as I offered, a knee-jerk reaction urged me to take the words back. An alarm that continued to sound when I asked similar questions throughout the week, warning me of how similar I acted as a devoted, lovinghusband with Daria before she screwed me over. Despite the continued alert, it got easier to ignore each time it sounded—it got easier to make excuses for why I kept pushing for a closeness I shouldn’t want.
Tonight, I thought of how she might want to end our agreement after five years. If I showed her that our marriage could be friendly and supportive, then maybe she’d forget her self-imposed timeline. I could do that without getting sucked into something more. I could show a side of myself that could care without exposing a hole for her to crawl inside of.
With my daily affirmation locked in place, I cocked a brow and waited for her response.
“Where do I start?”
“I would assume from the beginni?—”
“That would be when I received a phone call from one of the donors for the charity event,” she cut in before I could finish, throwing her arms wide. “Freaking Jade Hart. Mother. Freaking. Jade. Hart.”
“The actress?”
She scowled. “Yes.”
I bit back a smile. Not that I would ever say it out loud—or maybe I would just to see her scowl more—but her scrunched nose and curled lip were kind of cute. And undeniably sexy. “What about mother freaking Jade Hart?”
“She pulled her fucking donation. Saying she couldn’t possibly take another man as a date to the Oscars when she’s in love with someone else. That would be like cheating.” She pitched her voice high in mockery, rolling her eyesas her arms flew up again. “Who even falls in love in a week? No one. Or, maybe, some vapid actress who doesn’t give two shits about anyone but herself. I mean, she’s dating a guy whose name is one letter different than hers. Narcissistic much? Ugh. She’s probably confused and really in love with herself. And you knowwhat? I hope she trips on the red carpet. And I hope she doesn’t win any awards. And maybe her tit falls out or some shit.”
“Anything else?” I asked calmly.
“Anything else?” she screeched. “That was just the fucking beginning. As soon as I get off the phone with her, my dad comes in to finally have the more in-depth conversation I thought I’d escaped earlier this week.”
While she recapped the conversation with her father, I stirred the sauce and studied her from the corner of my eye, noticing her breathing pick up.
“I hate, hate,hatelying to my dad, but I needed him to believe me so he would stop grilling me about us. And then, when I think I’ll finally catch a break from the shit show—” Her words tumbled into a high-pitched laugh, her hands flying into her hair as if she couldn’t stop them.
The edge in her laugh—and the way her arms wrapped around herself, fists clenched—told me she might need a different kind of comfort. The more she talked, the tighter her muscles coiled, and if I let her keep going, she might implode. I turned off the stove and faced her. She didn’t seem to notice as I closed the distance in measured steps, her words still spilling out.
“When I thought for sure I could take a breath and move on with my day, Emily walked by and overheard our conversation.” She cringed and shook her head. “Ugh. She looked at me like I’d stabbed her in the back while she simultaneously congratulated me on our engagement.”
