Page 21 of Claimed By the Silver Fox

I know it’s crazy to feel let down that he doesn’t want me like that again. I mean, this is still the man who was due to be my father-in-law. I can’t justify it, can’t make sense of it, but there is still a part of me that wants to turn back to him and tell him that I’m not willing to stay here unless we live as a real husband and wife. Or at least, unless there’s a part of our marriage that stays alive, even if the rest of it seems dead in the water.

Our marriage. It’s strange to think of it in those terms.

I mean, this isn’t how I pictured marital bliss. Far from it. Locked up in a room half the time, tended to by staff, while my husband spends his days trying to get a handle on whatever is going on with his business.

Is this what it would have been like with Andreo too? To some extent, maybe. But with his father, I have even less control of what’s going on here, and I know all I can do is try to cling to some remnant of hope that this will change…

Even if it feels like all I’ve managed to do is get him to dig his heels in even further than he already has.

I sigh as I make my way back to my room. I don’t know what happens now—but I know I have to fight to keep my head above water, to keep from being entirely overwhelmed by the weight of everything I’m now involved with.

Even if I could never have known that this is where it would lead me.

10

ANTONIO

I throw back the last of my vodka, dragging my hand across my mouth, and close my eyes. My head is pounding, body racked with tension, and I don’t know what it’s going to take to clear my mind, given that today has delivered no change in the situation with Andreo.

Or anything else, for that matter.

Salamanca seems satisfied with the swing he has taken against my business, the warehouse still smoking where we’ve tried to rescue a few of our crates from it. Word has spread through the city already, and I’ve heard from a few of our usual buyers, concerned that I’m not going to be able to keep up with their needs now that I’ve taken such a big hit to my supplies. As much as I’ve tried to convince them that there’s nothing to worry about, and as much as I’ve doubled my efforts to get the destroyed weapons replaced, it bothers me that people are talking about my failures like that, and I can’t plug those gaps of information easily.

But that’s not the only thing bothering me. No, I can’t stop thinking about the conversation I had with Julia yesterday, when she came to my office to confront me, in no uncertain terms, about the status of her time here.

First, she tried to wheedle her way out of it, tried to convince me that nobody would pay her any attention once she was out of here in the first place, and that the best thing I can do is let go and divorce her. When I had turned that down, she changed her tune and brought up what happened in this very office the other night.

Of course, I had told her that it was a one-time thing. I’m not sure if I was trying to convince myself or her, to be honest, but that doesn’t matter. I can’t let it happen again, not a chance in hell. No matter how intense our connection was, she’s only in this marriage because she has no choice—and that doesn’t sit right with me when it comes to deepening our physical relationship.

When I’m with a woman, I want her there because she can’t think of anything she wants more than me.

Shit, it’s been a long time since I’ve even sought out that kind of connection—years, most likely, given how busy I’ve been with the business and everything that comes with it. Beyond that, there’s the stark knowledge that any woman who got involved with me could be putting herself in the line of fire for my enemies, hardly an appealing prospect for a potential one-night-stand.

And I never imagined that I would be married.

Hell, the longest relationship I ever had was with Andreo’s mother, and that was little more than a few weeks. I likely would never have heard from her again had she not fallen pregnant. She got out when she saw one of the attacks on my clubs, and insisted that I not contact her, fearful that she would get dragged into it. When she found out she was pregnant, she told me that she would have the baby, but that she didn’t want anything to do with the raising of him, and that I could have him in return for the promise that I would never come looking for her again.

I had accepted, because I wanted an heir—and more than that, I wanted a child. My own father was one of the most powerful influences in my life, and as I had reached the age he was when he had me, I found myself craving the same thing, the same connection he had with me.

But raising Andreo was lonely work—and now I’m distinctly aware of that loneliness once more, the weight of it pushing down on me as a reminder of all the ways I must have failed him for him to have turned against me like this.

So it feels strange that I’m married now.

In these early days of marriage, I know things are supposed to be downright dreamy in their perfection, but I’ve hardly spent any time with Julia at all. Because I know that if I do, I will wind up drawn in to something more with her, and I have to do anything in my power to keep from tumbling down that path. I can’t blur my mind with desire, not when there’s so much that demands my attention right now. As tempting as it might be to let myself pick up where we left off, especially with the way she came in here offering herself up to me, I need to stay in control.

Even if it feels like it’s going to drive me crazy.

I sigh, and turn to the computer open beside me, tapping through the CCTV camera feeds, as has become my habit in the last few days. Anything to stay on top of what’s happening in this house, that’s what it feels like.

Nothing has changed here. I guess Salamanca isn’t stupid enough to come after my home base yet, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to stay safe. As far as I can see, everything is quiet, steady, exactly as it’s meant to be…

And then I catch sight of movement in one of the cameras, and I scroll back to it. Of course, it’s the camera that’s set up in the hallway outside Julia’s bedroom—the one that covers the space between her sleeping quarters and the bathroom. And Julia herself is making her way out of the shower, it looks like, and toward her bedroom.

I stare at her for a moment. She pauses in the middle of the corridor, adjusting the towel that’s wrapped around her. Her hair is loose and damp over her shoulders, the towel cutting off just below her ass. I can almost see the curves of her cheeks beneath the fabric, and I do my best not to let my gaze linger too long. Fuck, the way she looks, it’s…it’s fucking intoxicating, more than all the vodka ever could be.

She makes her way into her room, and I scroll the footage back so I can look at her again. I feel like a fucking creep, watching her like this. But then, she must know there are cameras up.

Is this her way of teasing me? It sure as hell feels like it. Maybe I’m delusional, but I can’t help but feel like she knows what she’s doing. Maybe she even enjoys the attention.