Page 97 of The Wrong Husband
I swallow around the ball of emotion in my throat.
"Take it easy. It’s understandable to not want to be vulnerable." He hesitates. "I mean, it’s not like I can talk about being open with my feelings, right?"
That makes me turn in his direction. "I think you’ve been awfully open… For a man."
He chuckles. "I think it’s you."
"Me?"
"I’ve never been so forward with sharing my emotions as I am with you," he admits.
The intent turns his eyes into frost fire. "I wish you’d be as open with me. You say you trust me, you agreed to marry me, but you’re not committed fully. There’s something stopping you, and I wish I knew what it was. You say you trust me, Fever…" He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "I wish you really meant it."
Me too.I wish I really did trust him. If I did, I’d share my secret with him. The fact I haven’t tells me I’m not there yet.
“You’re very perceptive.” I swallow.
He nods. “Comes from spending so much time undercover. Often it was only my instincts preventing me from being killed. I wish I could switch them off, but they’re a part of me.” The light in his eyes burns so brightly, it feels like he has me trapped in their glacial beam. “Whatever it is you’re facing, you can tell me. I can help you, Fever.”
A tremor runs through me. His words are so real, his gaze so open, it makes me want to tell him everything. About Drew. About why my ex still shares my home. About why I couldn’t ask him to leave right away, despite our breaking up.
But would he understand?
Connor is a deeply possessive man—territorial down to his marrow. Finding out now could push him too far. He might walk away. Not just from the wedding, but from me. And that would mean, no lifeline for the ER. It would likely mean a life without the man who’s come to mean so much to me already.
I can’t risk that.
Not yet.
Once we’re married—once he’s pulled the strings only a Davenport can, once the ER is safe—then, maybe.
Maybe, we’ll have built something real by then. Maybe he’ll love me enough to understand why I haven’t been upfront with him. Maybe I’ll trustmyselfenough to tell him.
When I stay silent, his forehead furrows. “I realize, I had a head start on our relationship. And though I've tried my best for you to get to know me, perhaps, it hasn’t been enough. Perhaps, it’s unfair to ask you to share things with me, but…” A small smile curves his lips. “I’m patient, Fever.”
Something hot punches through my chest—sharp and blinding. This man floors me. Completely undoes me.
Every word, every look, every instinct in me screams that I was right to say yes to him. Right to agree to marry him. Right to take a risk on him. Now, I just want more. More time. More closeness.More of him.
I need to accelerate this—get the wedding done, seal the deal—so I can finally breathe beside him without holding anything back.
So, I can tell him everything…before the lie festers between us.
I look into his eyes. “Patience. It’s the waiting for the body to stabilize after trauma. You can’t rush it. You monitor vitals, you watch for signs of deterioration, but mostly—you hold. You resist the urge to intervene too soon, because premature actioncan do more harm than good. It’s controlled restraint. Knowing when to act, and when to wait. And right now, I can’t wait.”
The lines around his eyes deepen. “I’m not following.”
I allow myself a small smile. “I’m trying to say that I’m not patient, by nature. Hence, I’m a trauma doctor. I thrive on the adrenaline and the pace of the ER, you see.”
“O-k-a-y.” He chuckles. “If there’s a puzzle somewhere in this?—”
“I mean, let’s elope.”
34
Phoenix
I always imagined my wedding as some distant, dreamy event. The only certainty? I’d marry someone who loved and respected me. Connor may not love me—yet—but he respects me, deeply. And hefeelsfor me.
