Page 7 of A Method to His Madness

Which explains everything about him. About men of his low caliber.

“Don’t even think about it,” I bite off, pleased when Waylon freezes.

Recognizing the alpha in the room.

“You came here to better understand your wife, so that this marriage might function in a way that makes you both happy. Correct?”

“There’s no making her happy!”

There’s my opening. Thank you, Waylon.

“Oh, I’m sure there is.” I return to my chair, pick up the clipboard and sit down, slowly, noting that Ashley’s fingers are curled into the hem of her coat, knuckles white, green eyes watching me with reluctant awe. “But I’m not sure you’re the kind of man who enjoys putting in the work, Waylon. You’re more of a shortcut guy, aren’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he complains, gingerly testing his eye for pain and wincing as a result.

“It means, you sound like someone who lets other men do the work for you, then step in and benefit, such as your father buying land for you to profit from. Another example might be…” I nod at the gaudy ring on his finger. “You played football in high school.”

“Hell yeah, I did.”

“State champs?”

“Damn right.”

“How much time did you actually spend on the field, though?”

I haven’t even raised a hand and he looks like he’s been slapped again.

Ashley undoes the first two buttons on her coat and it takes every ounce of willpower in my body to stay seated. Stay calm. When all I want to do is carry her upstairs and whisper in her ear until the coat is on my floor and she’s opening her legs for me.

Patience.

“How long is your fishing trip, Waylon?” I ask.

He frowns. “Three days. Why?”

I write the wordidioton my clipboard. “Go on your trip. While you’re gone, I’m going to counsel your wife. I’m going to learn what makes her happy, so you don’t have to put in the work.” It’s a struggle to keep my voice even, because I’m imagining the time I’ll be spending alone with Ashley. Learning her. Earning her. Because this man is too stupid to do so himself. “By the time you come back, I should be able to share those results with you.” I move my focus to Ashley. “That is, if shechoosesto be counseled by me. Every decision from here on out will be made by her and her alone.”

Her lips part on an uneven breath.

Her fingers are no longer curled in the hem of her coat and the too-big garment rides up and over her smooth, feminine knee. A knee that I can already feel fitting into my palm.

Waylon splits a concerned look between me and Ashley—and he should be concerned. Very concerned. Because if I have my way, I’ll be fucking his wife like an animal by the time our three days together are up. What’s more, she’ll be screeching for it.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Waylon says.

“What do you propose, instead, Waylon?” I ask, drawing a hangman’s noose onto my clipboard. Six spaces underneath. Just enough to fit the letters W-A-Y-L-O-N. “Continuing on the way things are? If you choose that path, the three of us know what’s going to happen. Don’t we?”

“He’s going to make me consummate this marriage, with or without my say so,” Ashley says, her voice vibrating with a combination of fear and indignation. “He’s going to keep…hurting me. It’ll only get worse.”

“And I’m not going to allow that to happen, am I, Waylon?” I say, looking him dead in the eye. Making sure he sees my willingness to slaughter him with a smile on my face. “I’ll have to kill you first, won’t I?”

After a long, drawn-out pause, I laugh, as if I’m joking. I’m not.

Waylon, moron that he is, laughs, too, his relief clear. “What kind of…counseling are you planning to do with her?”

“That’s between me and Ashley.” I lean forward, my hands clasped loosely in front of me. “But let me be very clear, how we proceed is up to her. If she wants to use this opportunity to learn more about her own wants and needs, so that I can get a clear picture of what she requires in a marriage, I’m going to accommodate her.”

Waylon shakes his head, visibly confused. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

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