Page 121 of LA King

Perhaps being around my mother has brought out the chivalrous qualities she tried her hardest to instill in me. “Alana, are you okay?”

“Yes.” Her answer comes a little too quickly, and she scrubs at her eyes. “I suppose spending time with your mom today just reminded me how lonely I am here,” she adds softly. Then she shrugs and goes back to clearing dishes.

This is the most vulnerable I’ve seen her. As I watch her work, I feel something for her that is unexpected and unfamiliar.

Gratitude, perhaps?

Despite the circumstances of our arrangement and my determination to feel nothing but apathy toward her, I cannot discount that she put in the effort to make my mom feel welcome today. She played her part of the doting wife beautifully and in doing so made my mom a very happy woman. Whatever her agenda, Alana could have at least tried to make my life difficult this afternoon, but she didn’t. And that kiss …

Fuck. Me.

Even the memory of her sweet taste and the sensation of my tongue in her mouth has my cock feeling livelier than he’s been in weeks. It may have all been an act, but there was a moment when she gave into it like I did. Of that I am certain. It was a purely physical reaction, of course, but perhaps it’s one worth exploring. Particularly as I’ve been unable to even look at another woman since she slipped this goddamn ring on my finger, and a man has needs.

“You’ve not mentioned feeling lonely before,” I say, if only to distract myself from the situation going on in my pants.

She snorts in response.

Of course she’s lonely. Any fool could have seen that coming. It’s easy for me to forget that she gave up her whole life to move here. Or maybe I’ve chosen to ignore it. I’m sure a shopping trip with my Black Amex would make her feel better.

Instead of offering that up immediately, I ask, “Well, what would it take to make you feel less lonely?”

She spins to face me. “I don’t know. Friends?” She shrugs. “But I’m not that great at making them. What do the women around here do to occupy their time if they don’t work?”

Rubbing my hand across my jaw, I shake my head, at a loss for an answer. “I don’t know.”

“What do your friends’ wives do?”

I don’t really do friends, and the few I have aren’t married. But the wives of other rich men around here have plenty of liquid lunches, spend their husbands’ money, and justify it by raising a few bucks for charity once a year. I bet that would be right up Alana’s street.

“A group of local wives run a charity committee. I’m sure they get together a few times a week.”

Her eyes light up, confirming my suspicion. “Oh, that sounds perfect. Can I just show up? Or do you need to introduce me or something?”

“Amanda Grant is the chair. I’ll have a quiet word with her husband and tell her to expect you⁠—”

“Tomorrow?” she blurts out, all bright-eyed.

“If they meet tomorrow, then yes, tomorrow.”

“That would be wonderful, Alejandro. Thank you.” She offers a shy smile.

“You’ll need to take Hank with you,” I add, and her smile turns to a scowl.

Just what the fuck is wrong with her now? “Do you have a problem with that?” She pouts, and it makes me want to do bad fucking things to her, like bend her over my desk and … I mentally shake those images away.

“Hank hates me.”

Probably true. “Hank hates everyone.”

“Couldn’t I just go to this thing alone? Please?” She flutters her eyelashes, unaware I can’t be manipulated as easily as that, no matter what my cock is telling me—which is to give her whatever the fuck she wants if she keeps looking at us like that. Thankfully, my brain is still engaged enough to run the show. For now.

“No, you cannot go alone, Alana,” I say more sharply than I intended. “You can’t just wander around this city without protection. Not now that you’re my wife.”

For a second, she looks like she might bite my head off, but then she sinks her teeth into her luscious bottom lip and nods her agreement. “I understand that. But Hank, though? Isn’t there anyone else who could come with me? You must have some female security staff.”

I do, but there is no chance in hell I’m trusting her protection to one of them. Instead of admitting that and giving her any ideas that she might mean more to me than she thinks, I say, “If you are in danger, a man is stronger and faster and better able to protect you.”

“That’s sexist,” she scoffs.