Page 55 of The Unwanted Wife

There’s a touch on my shoulder. I snap my eyes open to find he’s squeezing it.

"It wasn’t your fault he was in an accident."

"But it was. If it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t have veered off course and lost control of his bike and collided with the sidewalk. Besides, he’s like my brother. If something happened to Ben…" I draw in a breath. "If it had been Ben who was hurt on a mission, wouldn’t I take care of him? I can’t think of Hugo as my brother in one breath, and in the other, abandon him when he needs me most."

30

Nathan

"You’re a good friend." I release her shoulder, only to cup her cheek. My words sound so inconsequential. My heart hurts; my chest squeezes in on itself. The buzz in my head, which has faded away since we left the crowd of people behind at the wedding venue, picks up again. "I am so sorry for what happened to Hugo."

"Thank you," she murmurs.

"It must be very difficult seeing him in this state."

"It is." She sniffles. "He was a brilliant chef. He had a brilliant future. He had… Has a natural knack for cooking any dish, be it an entrée or sweet dish. He could have gone all the way to the top. And now… He can barely remember his name most days." Tears pour down her cheeks.

My guts churn. I can’t bear to see her cry. Can’t tolerate seeing the distress she is in. I lean over the small coffee table and press my lips to hers. It’s meant to be comforting, a way for me to distract her from the sadness that grips her. I merely want to console her, but the touch of her mouth, the warmth of her breath, the taste of her goes straight to my head. I draw her sweet cherry-blossom scent into my lungs, and every cell in my body seems to burst into flames. I tilt my head, slide my tongue over hers, and she makes that little moan at the back of her throat, the one that drives me crazy. I lean in further, tipping my glass of water, which falls to the floor with a crash.

The sound cuts through my brain, and the pain in my eardrums escalates. The sound of gunfire. Of screams. The thud of footsteps racing toward me. The images overwhelm me. I flinch, pull away and squeeze my eyes shut. Take a breath, another. Try to rid the wave of static that overwhelms my hearing. When it abates to a bearable level, I open my eyes.

She’s looking at me with worry on her features. "Are you okay?"

I shake my head. "I will be." I reach for the bottle of water and take a sip.

"Was it the noise of the glass crashing to the floor that set you off?" she asks in a soft voice.

I retrieve my glass and place it on the table. "Loud noises hurt my ears."

"You’re suffering from PTSD?"

I nod. "That last mission I was part of went south. The other two men on our team were killed by enemy fire. Ben and I took the rest of them out. Carrying our dead team-mates, we were making our way back to the extraction point when a bomb went off next to me. Ben shoved me away, got the brunt of it instead. I owe him my life."

"He never told me," she whispers.

He shrugs. "Modest bastard. Never liked taking credit for his bravery."

She nods, her cheeks glisten with her tears, and she wipes them off. "He’s always been that way. Every time I thought taking care of Hugo and running the business was too much, I thought of him on the front lines. I thought of you on the front lines, too. And how brave both of you were, and it gave me the courage to keep going.”

"I’m not brave." I twist my lips. "If I were, I wouldn’t have coerced you to marry me in this fashion.

Her gaze widens. "Are you admitting that what you did was wrong?"

I rub the back of my neck. "I wouldn’t go that far."

She rolls her eyes. "I should have known, getting an apology from you is too far out to imagine."

"I should have told you upfront that I never stopped thinking about you. That we made a good match. That we could help each other. I could have used a softer approach, I suppose."

She blinks slowly. "Wow, should I be grateful that the great Nathan Davenport has extended me a half-apology?"

I quirk my lips. "That was half-assed, as far as apologies go. You and I both know that. So no, I wasn’t apologizing. I’m not sorry for finding a way to make you mine."

Remember me thinking that our marriage would end and that I’d have to walk away from her? Also, that I’d be okay with that? Bugger that. I have her here with me, in my house, under my roof, and I know now, I’ll never be able to live without her. She’s my wife. And I intend to do everything to convince her to stay mine.

I intend to own her heart, and her thoughts, and her body. I intend to pleasure her, so she never forgets who she belongs to. So her skin only ever wants my touch. So her soul knows who’s her mate. So she has eyes for me, and no one else. I intend to win her over and monopolize her heart, such that when the time comes to forgive me, she won’t think twice. And if it means I use underhanded means to win her sympathy, then so be it.

She tilts her head, "When the bomb went off next to you, were you hurt?”

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