Page 30 of His Weekend Wife

CHAPTER EIGHT

Declan placed the Chinese takeout boxes on the counter. The pepper steak was fragrant and he realized how hungry he was—how hungry he was to see Ash. Chinese used to be their thing, besides pizza of course. When they’d order, she’d eat the broccoli and he’d eat the steak. They always balanced each other.

Get a grip, man This is business.

Hell, there wasn’t anything business-like when it came to Ash. When he wasn’t touching her he was imagining all the ways he could undress her and make her his again.

The beauty crew had left almost twenty minutes ago and he was waiting anxiously for Ash to find her way downstairs. He was starting to wonder if she’d blown dinner off. After how angry she’d gotten with him earlier when she thought he’d planned an interlude with her and Analisa, he wouldn’t be surprised if Ash left him alone just to teach him a lesson. He guessed he should have warned her that the beautician was coming, but once he was alone with her in the bedroom, he’d been overworked with wanting her. He’d forgotten everything except the fact that he was on fire.

Truth was, his dick was already swollen and achy just imagining Ash getting her hair done. It should be impossible that she could wrap him in knots, but no, she still had that certain way about her, a mystical control over him that he’d like to debunk and fast. He wanted the control—needed to keep things in a safe zone.

He looked at the clock and sighed. It was getting late and he hated to be kept waiting. He scrubbed his forehead and dropped his hand to the counter, causing a fork to pop up and fall back with a loud ding.

He still couldn’t believe Ash was here, in his home, under one roof with him. Honestly, he’d never thought this would be possible. And now, well, the impossible had happened. Only because she needed the money. An invisible knife sliced through his chest. Hell, he would have given her the money even if she didn’t agree to this situation. He couldn’t allow her to be in any trouble. Eventually she’d tell him why she needed the money, he hoped. Once upon a time he knew all her secrets.

They wouldn’t be sharing.

After thirty days was up, he’d give her a divorce, just as he’d promised.

So, had she done this more for the money or for the divorce? Either way, it drove the knife deeper.

His cell buzzed and he glanced at the screen. Lucy. What the hell could she want. He ignored it, but on the third ring, he thought he should answer considering there was always the risk that she would show up unexpected and make things worse.

“Yes, Lucy?”

“Still in a sour mood I see. Does that mean you’re no closer to finding a wife?” Her tone held disappointment. “Time is ticking.”

“No, that’s not the case at all. In fact, I’ve worked out the situation. Nothing for you to worry about. Is that the only reason why you’re calling?”

He held the phone between his chin and shoulder, and set plates and a bottle of expensive wine out, and grabbed glasses from the cabinet. Yeah, this would be casual. Just as he wanted.

“Unless you’d like to have conversation, but yes, that’s the only reason.”

“Talk to you later.” He clicked off just as he heard footsteps behind him. He turned around and almost dropped the glass he had in his hand. His balls throbbed. Ash looked like a dream come true, but better. There were no signs of the tired woman from before. She was an image to behold. Her hair hung down her bare shoulders in soft, supple waves that made his fingers ache to touch. Her skin was glowing. He could no longer see the dark circles, the sign that she hadn’t been sleeping well. Everything about her shimmered, even her toenails that were a bright color. But then there was the dress she wore that was made to make a man melt in his loafers. It was a dress of all dresses. The color of cherry red, the plunging neckline gave a nice view of her ample breasts. He remembered her perfect, firm tits, and how they fit in his palms so right. The tight material clung to her body like a second skin, showing off her soft curves. As much as he enjoyed the dress, he wanted nothing more than to rip it off with his teeth and plunge his body deep inside of her, making her his all over again. He wanted her so badly that he could almost smell her pussy from where he stood across the room.

Growling with pent-up need, he’d have to have a lot of control and patience being around her for the next thirty days if his intention was to behave.

“You look lovely,” he said.

One corner of her crimson lips turned upward into a teasing smile. “The dress really is lovely.”

“I ordered Chinese. I thought we’d take the opportunity to get everything out on the table.” He popped open the wine bottle and poured them each a glass. “Have a seat.” He pulled out one of the barstools for her.

“I might be a little overdressed.”

I couldn’t agree more. “I think you’re dressed perfectly.”

She slid onto the chair, tugging down the hem of the short skirt that gave an exceptional view of her long, toned legs. If this was five years ago, he’d already be on his knees, head between her legs, lapping up the warm juices he knew he’d find. But reality was, this wasn’t the past, and the present left a bitter taste on his tongue, although a little taste of her would sweeten the deal.

He sat down in the chair next to her, thankful there was enough space between them so he wouldn’t forget protocol and absentmindedly reach out and touch her. He held up his glass. “How about we toast to closure?” Yeah, this was the right track.

She squinted. “Sounds good.” She clinked her glass against his.

He watched her sip the wine, how her lovely lips closed over the rim and her slender neck gently moved as she swallowed. She tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear and her simple cross earring glittered in the light of the chandelier. Her tongue came out to sweep across her bottom lip and a tortured sound slipped from his mouth. Damn, he’d give his riches just to have her naked, under him, whimpering his name over and over as he claimed her pussy, her mind…and heaven forbid, her heart. Yet, he couldn’t forget that she’d left him. How hurt he’d been. The cracks in his heart that remained.

She took a longer drink and he noticed that her fingers were trembling. She was nervous, and an unexpected emotion fluttered through him. No, he couldn’t feel sorry for her. She’d come to him, after these years, asking for his help, and he gave it to her. He wasn’t a monster. It was only right that she exchanged the offer and helped him too. This was a win-win situation.

He clenched his teeth until he felt an ache in his jaw. He drank the contents of his glass, then poured another, feeling a little less tense with the alcohol warming his bloodstream. He reached for the container of rice and spooned her out some, followed by a helping of sweet and sour chicken. Then he stopped with the spoon mid-air. “Oh, shit. Sorry. Old habits die hard.” What the hell was he thinking by serving her?

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