Page 17 of Provoked

I shrug, still not looking his way. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I still don’t care for the guy that thinks Margot is… well, whatever. And I’m not fond of the man who yells and orders people about. But the Justin who sat with me in the dark, who worries about me being here alone, who sent the doorman a month of meals when he was out sick, that Justin I’m so in love with, nobody else can even compete.”

“Ingrid,” he finally interjects slowly. I brace myself for the total rejection coming. That his cock was just a physical reaction out of his control. “How long has this been going on?”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing at the total disbelief in his voice. He genuinely had no clue, at least not until very recently.

“Since about a week after I met you,” I tell him softly before untangling our hands and preparing to stand. I think this is enough confessing for right now. But his hand reaches up and tugs on my braid hanging down my back.

“Come back here, Ingrid. Please?”

I turn finally to see a curious light in his bright green eyes. He tugs again, so I lie down and curl into his side with a deep sigh. My hand hesitantly extends to rest on his bare chest. His heartbeat is steady and strong.

“Is that why —? Fuck it is, isn’t it?” He heaves a frustrated sigh, his fingers clenching down on my hip like he’s determined to keep me right here.

“Margot was never anything but convenient. Clearly even that was a mistake, in hindsight. But I’m not going to apologize for not seducing a teenager,” he adds dryly.

My eyebrows shoot up at that. Does that mean he might consider a woman in her twenties? But it’s not like he’d have to seduce me when I’m clearly his for the taking. He drops a kisson my forehead. “Why don’t we table this until after we’re married?”

I’m about to protest when I scan his face and see the signs of pain etching the lines around his eyes. He’s reached his limit but is too proud to say so.

I’m reluctant to leave the warmth of his body against mine, but his pain medication is on the other side of the room. I meet his questioning gaze with a brief nod and stand to deal with the practicalities of his recovery. A few minutes later, his eyes drift shut and I head downstairs to figure out dinner for the three of us.

It’s such a prosaic task after the heavy emotions of the last few minutes that my brain can’t focus. Which is why Fred finds me staring blankly into the open refrigerator.

He coughs loudly. “Kid, you okay?”

I turn with a smile. “Yeah. Justin is…” I shrug, not finding the words to finish that sentence.

Fred snorts, but I can tell he’s almost ready to smile. “If the two of you keep running away from each other, eventually you’re going to collide hard on the other side of the world.”

“Or upstairs,” I offer with a sunny smile.

“Like that, is it? Well, I wasn’t enjoying retirement that much, anyway.” And with that cryptic remark, Fred reaches over my shoulder for a beer and then disappears with it out to the front porch. I go back to making a salad to go with the hamburgers I’ve decided will be fast and easy.

My frustration with my injuries is mounting by the day. There’s too much to be done and while Fred has been a taciturn but willing gopher, he’s not exactly set up to advise Ingridon her investments or writing a new will. She has to have one. That much money floating around loose will just invite trouble.

“Why can’t you just inherit it if something happens to me?” Ingrid asks, her brow furrowed with bewilderment.

“Conflict of interest? It would look like I’d arranged everything for just that outcome,” I point out dryly.

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Nobody that knows you would ever think that. Of course, they probably wouldn’t imagine you marrying me either… Fine, can I leave it all to Rose’s new baby?”

“Has it been born yet?”

“No, not that I’ve heard.”

“Then no, or at least not in a way that will stick. Plus, you should ask your friend if she’s okay with that. You know as well as anyone what kind of trouble that amount of money can cause. She might not want that for her family.” I try to lay that out for her as gently as possible, but I can see the welling tears in Ingrid’s brown eyes as the realization hits. She’s still alone, more isolated by the millions about to land in her bank account than ever.

Silently, she nods and turns away.

“Ingrid?”

“I’ll think about it, find a charity or something.” Her voice is flat. I growl with frustration because if I were mobile and had technology handy, I could hand her three to pick from in no time.

But instead I’m stuck here waiting. Waiting on Ingrid’s answer, waiting on the judge, waiting on Fred to locate a second witness.

By tonight we’ll be married, though, and I can relax slightly on the Margot front. Although we have to get the word out to make sure she knows that particular plot has no future. It bothers me that Fred and the local cops haven’t been able toturn up any hints as to her whereabouts. If we don’t even know what state she’s in, I’ll have to cast a pretty wide net of publicity. I haven’t talked to Ingrid about what that would look like either. I’m actively praying we can stick to the local paper, but it’s looking less and less likely.

I’m intentionallynotthinking about Ingrid’s feelings for me. I still can’t quite believe that’s not some kind of trauma imprinting from losing her parents so suddenly. But the way she didn’t expect me to return those feelings in any way was probably more convincing than the words themselves. There’s no way I’m good for her, although I hope not so bad that we have to return to snail mail communication. Enough. I’ll work on this problem tomorrow or the next day. Ingrid understands that her safety comes first. Once we’ve secured that, we can worry about her happiness.

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