Page 51 of Tempted By the Bosshole

“I want you to be happy, Isabella.”

More tears fall. “I have no idea what Julia was thinking when she chose my dad over you, and I’m sorry for the pain you had to go through. But you’ve been so much better to me than Eric ever was. I didn’t know men could be this thoughtful…”

“Only for you. Usually, I’m an absolute bastard.”

“I don’t doubt it.” She grins.

“Despite that, I also had something made for you.” I rummage through the bags I dumped on the coffee table and pull free a simple white box. “Open it.”

“What’s this? I didn’t get you anything. I didn’t even think about Christmas. I just usually?—”

“I don’t need anything but you, baby girl. Go on.”

Cautiously, she opens the box and pulls my gift from the foam wrapper. When she sees the picture of her and her mom, along with the inscription on the plaque, Isabella tears up. “‘Those we love never go away; they walk beside us every single day. Unseen, unheard, but always near, still loved, still missed, and very, very dear.’ Oh, Nathan… I love it.”

When I open my arms, she lunges into them and sobs again on my shoulder. I hold her tight, murmuring soothing words and pressing gentle kisses to her temple.

She lifts her head with a sniffle. “This is amazing. I could say thank you a thousand times and it wouldn’t be enough.”

“You don’t even have to say it once. Your face says it for me.”

“Still, I appreciate it, and I want you to know it.”

“You’re welcome.”

“No, I want to thank you in a more…personal way.” Isabella drops to her knees between my feet and reaches for my fly.

Instantly, I get hard—a common occurrence when my wife is around. But this is different. The earnest need to please is all over her face, and I can’t deny that her submissive instinct revs me straight to the edge of my restraint.

“Please…”

Her whisper is like a siren call. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to. Let me.”

Fuck, I can’t say no. I’ve been dying to feel her mouth around me, and once she’s swallowed me down, I’ll lay her across our bed, tug off her pajama bottoms, and return the favor until she screams.

I drag my thumb across her lower lip. Then I raise my hands in surrender, and close my eyes while she gives me the merriest Christmas gift I could have asked for.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Christmas morning starts with a peaceful fall of fluffy snow, warm pancakes, and hot sex with my even hotter wife. As much as I love fucking Isabella, now that I’ve made love to her when she’s soft and her heart is open, it’s even more sublime. I can’t wait until she’s fertile. Until she conceives. Until I’m filling her pussy while I’m holding her swelling belly.

I’m surprised I haven’t heard from Doug in the last thirty-six hours. He’s usually an impulsive hothead, so the image I texted him of Isabella and me on our wedding night should have set him off. But I’m not enraged or anxious like I thought I’d be that the bastard hasn’t responded.

Why?

One conclusion bombards my brain: I’ve become more emotionally invested in keeping Isabella than in having revenge. In fact, I’ve hardly thought about anything except my new wife in days. Other than taking our picture in bed and sending it to Doug via my ex-wife, I haven’t lifted a finger for the payback I spent obsessive months scheming. I’ve focused all my energy on cementing my bond with Isabella and making her happy.

That realization is both comforting and disturbing.

After we clean the kitchen and dress for the day, we toss together the green bean casserole Laurel asked us to bring and head to my brother’s place a few miles away. They welcome us with hugs and a bottle of good red wine. The kids are spending the afternoon with friends and significant others, but they’ll be back for dinner.

After some football and casual conversation, Laurel throws the dishes she prepared in advance in the oven. Steve checks the prime rib on the smoker. The scents of scrumptious food fill the house and combine with the smell of pine from their giant tree while snow falls softly outside. It’s the perfect backdrop for Christmas Day.

I take my wife’s hand and lower my voice. “You doing okay?”

“Good.” She sips her wine and fingers her mother’s pendant. “Great, actually. I haven’t enjoyed this holiday since I was a child. You made this year totally different.”

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