Page 93 of The Wrong Husband
“Is it only just sinking in?”
She looks away, her gaze thoughtful. Then, instead of answering, she gestures toward the food. “How is it?”
I let her pivot, pick up my fork, and take a bite. “It’s really good.”
“Thanks.” She brings another forkful of pasta to her mouth and chews. "I’ve only begun to accept that we’re getting hitched.” She tilts her head. “Of course, I’m doing it because it’s the best way to save the ER.”
I’m disappointed that she’s still using the ER to justify agreeing to marry me. Surely, there’s some part of her beginning to thaw toward me? Surely, the light I see in her eyes every time she looks at me, is because she wants me, too?
“And here I thought, it was because you’ve developed feelings for me,” I say, only half in jest.
Something flashes across her face, then she lowers her chin. “I’d be lying if I said you haven’t made an impression on me. And it’s clear, we’re physically attracted to each other—” She swallows. “As for anything else, it’s too soon.”
I sense her distress, and my heart jumps in my chest. “I don’t mean to put pressure on you.” I squeeze her shoulder, wanting to comfort her.
“Thanks.” She looks at me from under her eyelashes. “I really do appreciate that you have the connections to stop the ER from closing.”
“The Prime Minister and I are alumni of the same school.” It might be a cliché, but theold boy’s networkhas its uses on occasions like this. “There must be some use of being a Davenport. Having access to people in power, who can make a difference, is the least of it. In fact, I believe you can help me craft the argument that should help convince him."
She gapes at me. "You want me involved in building the case to keep Archway Hospital’s ER open?"
"You’re the doctor. You work there. You have firsthand knowledge of how important its services are to the community. So absolutely, I want you to draw up the proposal making the case why the ER needs to stay open. Why don’t you send it to me in the next few days, and I’ll make sure it gets to the PM.
She places her fork down on the plate and pats her mouth with her paper napkin. Then she slides off the stool, moves around the breakfast counter, and throws herself into my arms.
I catch her, haul her into my lap, and she straddles me. She locks her fingers around my neck and looks up into my face.
"Remember what I said earlier about you being handsome, and built, and arrogant?"
"Yes?" I offer warily.
"Add sensitive, empathetic and caring."
I hitch up the left side of my mouth. "I take it, that’s good?"
She swallows, a myriad of different emotions flitting across her features. "It’s very good," she confirms. "And so sexy."
Her lashes dip, a sensual tension gathering around her eyes. "That you’re confident and so self-assured is a turn on. But add on that you’re not an asshole. That”—she licks her lips, her gaze on mine—"you’re perceptive enough to include me in this initiative.
You have no reason to do so. In fact, you don’t need me. You could reach out to the Prime Minister and use the influence in your network to deliver on this for me. You could use this asnegotiating tool, but instead you've decided to give me agency in this."
"There is no way I would not involve you in this bid to save the ER."
Her lips curve, admiration softening her gaze. “You’re that rare mix—a commanding, confident man who’s also emotionally open.”
“Only with you,” I say, my voice low. “When I’m undercover, I’m never really myself. I’m always playing a part. I might feel things—but it’s the character who feels them, not me. My real emotions, my preferences—they stay locked away.”
I rake a hand through my hair, tension settling across my shoulders. “When I’m in that world, I suppress everything real. It’s the only way to survive. To get the job done.”
I widen my stance and plant my feet, like I need the reminder I’m here. With her.
“But with you, it’s different. I can feel. Really feel. You bring out parts of me I buried a long time ago. With you, I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to hide. I can just…be.”
“I feel that too,” she murmurs. “You know me in ways no one else does. Sometimes, it blows my mind how much.”
I do have prior knowledge of her preferences from stalking her. Guilt pricks at my subconscious mind. I push it aside.If it helped to get her to stay with me, then surely, it was worth it?
To distract myself—and her—I drawl, “Of course, there are other parts of me which I would love for you to blow them, too."
