Page 9 of Bride Bargain

In all the years we’ve been friends, Claire has never shut me out like this, retreating behind invisible walls. When I accidentally offended her so many times as a clueless teenager—she forgave me quickly. That time a few Christmases ago when I absently agreed with her that she’d put on a little weight—there were fireworks, then Claire dissolved into laughter.

God, I still don’t understand why that was wrong of me. Shehadput on a few pounds after all those holiday treats, and it suited her. She looked all the more beautiful for it.

Even back when we made the rocky transition to boss and assistant, Claire never blamed me for the initial awkwardness. She’d bristle when I gave her orders, stomp off and do her work, then come back and joke about how weird this all felt, gifting me an apology mug of coffee.

The transition to husband and wife is not going so well. In our first week of marriage, Claire has barely looked at me.

The longer she leaves me alone, the more hollow I feel. Was this all a miscalculation?

I blow out a long breath. The tension in this office is almost unbearable, clogging my throat and making my chest tight. It’s another gray day outside the penthouse windows, with clouds hanging low over the city, and that only worsens the claustrophobia.

“We can’t go on like this,” I say. Claire straightens, alarmed, but there’s no victory in holding eye contact with her now. Not when she’s so wary. Does she really think I’d ever fire her?

I’d be lost without this woman. Iamlost.

Only a week ago, those lips grazed my jaw as she licked chocolate icing off my cheek. The memory shudders through my insides, and my abs clench beneath my shirt. Claire was so warm and sweet and pliant that night, arching against me and plastering our bodies together, her breathy sounds ringing in my ears—andfuck, I wanted her badly. Every cell in my body cried out for her, overwhelming my system until I nearly lost the battle with my rigid self control.

It’s so vivid, even now. I can feel every detail.

But my wife has barely looked at me since, all while I’m craved the warmth of her skin like an addict desperate for his next fix. This won’t do.

“Movie night tonight,” I say, aiming for a tone that brooks no argument. Like I’m giving another work order. “We’ll get Thai. Make sure you’re home.”

Because even though Claire’s clothes and toothbrush and stack of crafting magazines all live in my guest room now, she barely sets foot in the apartment except to scurry to bed each night. Where does she go when she’s not at the office? Is she safe? Wait, is she seeing another man?

A snapping sound echoes through the office, and we both glance down at the broken pencil in my hand. Claire snorts.

“Alright, Robocop.”

The two halves patter into the waste paper basket beneath my desk. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“No kidding.”

“It wasn’t a threat. You are not the pencil in this scenario.”

Claire grins, rolling her eyes, and my heart lifts at the sight. It’s the happiest she’s looked all week. “Elliot, I get it.”

But I need to be sure. When I held Claire close in the kitchen on our wedding night, when I memorized every dip and curve of her body against mine, it also became painfully clear how small she is compared to me. How much stronger I am.

I will have to be very, very careful with Claire Montgomery. She’s the most precious thing I’ve ever touched, and I just snapped my favorite pencil.

But god, I want to cover her body with mine and just…losemyself in her.Surrender my last shreds of control. Would she like that too? If I let loose, just a little?

“Hey, hello.” Fingers snap together a few inches from my face. Claire’s leaning over the desk, her mouth curved up on one side. “Anybody home?”

“Uh. Yes, sorry.”

I blink hard, but the image of our two sweaty bodies sticks stubbornly in my mind’s eye. My chair creaks as I shift position beneath the desk. It’s hot and stuffy in this room and my collar is too tight. Would it be strange to stick my head in the staff room refrigerator?

“So you’ll be there,” I rasp. “Movie night.”

“Movie night,” Claire agrees, and the way she looks at me is warmer than it’s been all week. The first thawing of frost. I could punch the air if my whole body weren’t so taut.

* * *

A glass of iced lemon water for me: check.

A mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows and a maddeningly fluffy blanket for Claire: check.

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