Page 15 of Storm over the Caribbean
Mr Ambrose fell silent, his suspicions apparently assuaged. I barely managed to suppress an evil cackle.
***
Finishing my signature on the last paper with a flourish, I folded the last of the letters and slipped it into an envelope—just a moment before Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s arms came around from behind me.
“What are you doing, Mrs Ambrose?”
“Me?” Grabbing the pile of letters, I quickly slipped them into the box for outgoing mail and closed the lid. “Nothing much, just finishing some letters.
I felt him stiffen behind me.
“What are you up to, Mrs Ambrose?”
“Me? Nothing.” Smirking, I reached behind me to the place where he was most stiff. “Although if this is how you react to my being up to something, maybe I should do it more often.”
A growl erupted from behind me and he whirled me around. An instant later, a searing kiss was branded on my lips, and ravenous hands explored my body. Deep inside, I smiled.
Operation distraction, successful!
With one swift move, Mr Ambrose swept me up into his arms and carried me off towards the stairs.
Very, very successful, apparently.
“W-what about dinner?” I mumbled against his lips. “We didn’t get to eat before we left Patsy’s. We should—”
“Later.” Long, firm, elegant fingers found their way to my face to stroke my cheek with heart-breaking gentleness. “Right now, I feel like having some appetizer.”
I swallowed. “Sh-should I get some from the kitchen?”
Heck! Why am I stuttering? I’m a married woman, dammit! Why?
“No.”
Ah, there was the reason. His chilly voice that, no matter how often I heard it, never failed to send a delicious shiver down my spine. His deep, dark eyes that told me exactly what was in store for me.
In a blink, we were already halfway up the stairs to the bedroom. When he bent down to once more press his lips to mine, I welcomed him with open arms, and couldn’t help but smirk.
Wait till he finds out whatIhave in store forhim.
***
The next few days passed in beautiful conjugal bliss. I went to work. I was bossed around by Mr Ambrose. His employees stared at me as if I were a tap-dancing giraffe at the North Pole,and Mr Ambrose took liberal advantage of that fact to deduct pay for tardiness. All was well in skinflint-land, and Mr Rikkard Ambrose didn’t even catch a whiff of suspicion of his coming doom.
Yet in spite of this…
I glanced at my dear hubby. Jaw clenched. Little finger twitching. Silently trying to freeze a bird outside his office window with his gaze.
I cleared my throat.
“Ehem, Mr Ambrose, Sir?”
Silence.
“Is it just me or are you not in a…particularly festive mood?”
More silence.
Well…except for the sound of crumpling paper as he tortured the poor letter clutched in his hand.
