Page 30 of The Devious Husband

“Here we go,” he says, pausing in front of countless jewelry sets that have been put on display beautifully. “I promised I’d return this to you when I got what I wanted.”

I step closer, my fingers trailing over the heirloom piece my grandmother gave me, before I take a moment to really take in everything else. All the pieces he gifted me are here, right along with everything he stole. “You commissioned those pieces from Laurier long before we got engaged,” I begin to say, unable to comprehend his thought process. “Why?”

He simply shrugs. “You like Laurier jewelry, and I wanted you to wear something that you’d love, but that’d make you think of me. Nothing else I did seemed to get to you, so I thought this might.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “So you were trying to ruin my favorite jewelry brand for me.”

He barks out a laugh and runs a hand through his hair, not realizing how incredibly sexy he looks when he does that, his entire torso on display, his sweats hanging low on his hips.

I glance back at the jewelry on display as he tips his head toward the end of the room. He supposedly commissioned ten pieces, but he only gave me eight. Who were the other two for? His mother perhaps, or Valeria? I know my wedding ring was made by Laurier too, but he couldn’t have ordered it back then, since we weren’t engaged yet.

“I think this might become your favorite room,” he says, his tone teasing. “It’s at the back of the house, so it’s not exactly super hidden, but it isn’t accessible any other way.”

I raise a brow when he grabs my hand and presses my palm against the wall at the back, and it slides open. Xavier pulls me through, and I gasp in disbelief when I find myself standing in the most gorgeous library I’ve ever seen. It’s got two floors, a gorgeous spiral staircase, and more books than I can count. I’m in a daze as I gently touch the spines of some of the books, my surprise mounting when I realize that at least some of them are romance books — and not just any, but special or first editions of most of my favorites.

“How do you have these?” I ask, turning around to face Xavier, not realizing how close he’s standing.

“I’ve read them,” he says, leaning in and resting his forearm against the shelf, right next to my head. My heart begins to race as I lean back against the shelf and look into his eyes. “They were very informative.”

“W-were they?” I stammer.

“Yeah,” he replies, cupping my face, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip.

I reach for him, fully intending to push him away, but somehow, my hand ends up wrapped around the back of his neck, my eyes on his lips. “What did you learn from them?” I ask, my voice tinged with desire.

Xavier leans in and tilts his head, his mouth inches from mine. “This.” His lips come crashing against mine, and I groan when he pushes me flush against the bookcase, my hand threading into his hair. This kiss is different to all the ones before it — it’s filled with unbridled desperation that I meet beat for beat.

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” he murmurs before nipping at my bottom lip, only to run his tongue over the seam of my lips in a silent demand to open up for him. Xavier deepens our kiss, his hands roaming over my body hungrily as he grabs my hips and lifts me up, my legs instantly wrapping around him. I moan against his mouth when I feel how hard he is, and he rolls his hips, his hands slipping underneath the t-shirt I’m wearing.

“Wait,” I whisper, pulling back when I feel his hands wrap underneath my breasts, his thumbs caressing the underside of it. “Stop.” I’m breathing hard, my thoughts a mess.

Xavier carefully lowers me to the floor, his gaze roaming over my face. His hand trembles as he carefully pushes my hair out of my face, and I look into his eyes, feeling more conflicted than ever. I thought I knew what I was getting into when I married him — I was convinced I knew him better than anyone else… but this version of Xavier is one I don’t recognize.

Twenty-Eight

Sierra

I hesitate as I park my car in front of Xavier’s garage at nearly ten in the evening, having stayed at the office far longer than I needed to. The thought of facing him makes me nervous in a way it never did before, and it’s got everything to do with how weird Xavier’s been acting lately, and the way he kissed me in his beautiful library.

He’s been so unlike himself that I’m not sure what to make of him. I’ve taken to avoiding him as best as I can, and much to my surprise, he hasn’t said anything about it. It’s almost like he expected it. Part of me thought he’d make a fuss and would inconvenience me unnecessarily, but he’s merely kept to himself. Most days, it’s easy to forget we’re married at all, until I get home and find him in our bed without a shirt on, his expression conveying something I could swear is longing.

My mornings with him are even worse. He holds me so tightly every morning, and the way his body feels against mine leaves me desperate for him. In a matter of days, he’s managed to completely confuse me, and I hate it. I was so certain I knew what I was getting into by marrying him, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I take a deep breath as I step out of the car, my heart racing as I walk into the house. It’s surreal that I live here now, in the same home I’ve broken into so many times, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it. My steps falter as I reach the doorway to Xavier’s bedroom and find him sitting in bed, the sheets bunched around his naked torso and his laptop on his lap. He looks up and smiles, and my heart goes wild. “Kitten,” he drawls.

“What is with your personal vendetta against tops?” I snap, unable to keep myself from sneaking a few looks at his wide chest and strong arms.

He chuckles and drops his head back against the headboard, looking up at me from lowered lashes. “I wear shirts and ties every day, wifey. Why would I want to wear them at home too?”

Wifey? My face heats at the sound of that word on his lips, and I tear my gaze off him as I rush into the bathroom. I take my time in the shower, trying my best to calm my nerves and failing.

Xavier’s eyes light up when he spots me walking in wearing one of his t-shirts, and he smirks. “Those look infinitely better on you than they do on me,” he remarks when I get into bed with him, his voice soft.

My gaze cuts to his, and I try my best to determine whether or not he’s joking, mocking me somehow, but he seems earnest, and it just doesn’t make any sense. I narrow my eyes at him and reach for my own laptop, determined to work for another hour and absolutely refusing to let him distract me with his stupid abs and that lazy smirk.

“Place a small coffeeshop there to increase foot traffic,” Xavier says, leaning in to look at my screen.

My first instinct is to snap my laptop closed, but I resist and reluctantly acknowledge that he’s right. “How did you know I’d been wondering how to increase foot traffic?”

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