Page 132 of The Reluctant Wife

He’s already inhaled his pasta in a few efficient mouthfuls. Maybe a hang-over from his military days, when he had to eat on the go and, likely, in shared dining rooms? And now, I have myriad questions about this very handsome, very rich, rescuer of my bag who’s made me come more times in one day then I ever have, even with my vibrator. Speaking of… No doubt, he’s come many, many more times, and with different women.

I finish the last bite on my plate and place my fork down. When I look at him, he nods. There’s touch of—worry in his eyes?—which he banks. His expression turns almost bored, but he doesn’t fool me. He is concerned about my reaction.

"That many?" I ask softly.

He groans, "Fuck, woman, why are you putting yourself through this? They didn’t mean anything to me."

I nod miserably. "I know it’s different for a man. And of course, it’s stupid for me to expect whoever I choose to be with hasn't been with anyone else. Especially not someone as attractive as you. And who’s been in the Marines. You probably had a different woman every night."

When he stays quiet, I stare. "Youdidhave a different woman every night?"

His expression turns uncomfortable, then he composes his features into a mask, so I can’t decipher what he’s feeling. "They didn’t mean anything. I promise, there was no emotional connection with any of them. You, on the other hand—” His Adam’s Apple bobs. “You’ve begun to mean so much to me in the little time I’ve already known you, baby."

The muscles in his jaw flex.

"There was a time, when I first joined the Marines and was back from my first mission… When I saw upfront friends being killed and innocents among the enemy being slaughtered… When the clarity of what I’d signed up for… When the futility of what I was embarking on became clear to me… I… I might have lost it a little."

There’s anguish in his voice and a pain that shines through and thaws the ice which had begun to settle around my heart. Whatever he’s feeling, whatever he went through, tested him. It changed him. It made him grow up and become the man he is today… The result of which I’m attracted to, hugely.

I sigh. "How… How old were you?"

"Eighteen when I joined; twenty when I went to the Middle East on my first call of duty."

The mask is in place, but something in his eyes is in shadows. Echoes of the past which were difficult. Which he had to survive to get here.

"I’m sorry." I'm not sure what prompts me to say that, but it’s the right thing, for a little tension bleeds from his shoulders.

He nods. "You don’t need to be. It was my choice. And I don’t regret it. I'm proud of my service. Proud I could come to the defense of my country and my fellow citizens. But there was a price to pay for it."

"The sleeping around?"

He nods. "It provided a temporary relief… Very fleeting, but it’s the only thing that kept me going. Some kind of reaffirming of life, in a twisted way. When I was between missions, I slept with a different woman almost every night."

I wince. Well, I did ask him to tell me. And he was clear he’d never lie to me. So, here’s the truth. Except, it doesn’t relieve that burning sensation in my chest any.

"Especially in the early days, when I also used alcohol as a crutch. I’d often be blind-drunk enough to wake up in adifferent bed every night, with a different woman, who I didn’t recognize. A nameless, faceless person I’d used to try and get the frustration out of my system. Not that it helped much." He shrugs. "By the time I realized that, a few years had passed. It was Brody, my younger brother, who gave me a talking to and told me to pull myself together." He half smiles. "We got into a fight, which I was too drunk to win. But his thrashing me was the best thing he could have done. I?—"

The doorbell rings.

We look at each other.

"Were you expecting company?"

He shakes his head. "No one was announced, so it must be someone security recognizes." He looks around and swears. "I left my phone by the bed, so I don’t know if any of them called me, either."

The doorbell rings again, then again. The sound is harsh, jarring, almost insistent. A shiver runs up my spine. A frisson of discomfort stabs into my breastbone. Not sure why I feel like it’s an alarm bell, a warning.

I shake my head and attempt a smile. "Guess whoever that is, is impatient."

"Sorry about that." He rises to his feet and walks out of the kitchen. Unable to sit still, I jump up and follow him through the living room to the front door. He throws it open and looks around. "There’s nobody here," he says in a puzzled tone. Then he looks down, and his entire body freezes.

Something about how motionless he is—the bunched muscles of his torso, the way his shoulder blades stand out with surgical precision against his shirt—fires another ripple of alarm through my blood stream. I hurry and close the distance to him. "Who is it?"

I draw abreast, stand next to him, and look down at a basket with an oversized bag left next to it.Huh?Does the basket haveclothes in it? No, not clothes. Wait, that's a diaper bag! Now, I can make out the curve of a tiny head with downy hair peeking out. My heart leaps into my throat. My mind recognizes what I’m seeing, but the connection between my brain and my mouth seems to have been lost.

It’s Tyler who recovers first. "It’s a baby.” His voice is surprised. He looks around the short hallway, a stunned expression on his features. The noise of the elevator’s engine running reaches us.

He springs into action, walks around the baby carrier and toward the elevator. The numbers count down as the elevator descends. He spins around, rushes into the apartment, then reaches for what I assume is the intercom hooked into the wall next to the door.

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