Page 17 of Liar's Heart
“Why do you ask?” She frowns a little as she fully sets her book aside.
I fight the urge to scrub my hand down my face. “Because this is your home too? It’s polite to ask if you’re okay with someone being in it, let alone spending the night.”
The frown deepens a fraction of an inch. “Doesn’t he have a room here? And your plans are already set. What does it matter?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I say, “He does, and we’ve already discussed this, yes, but it doesn’t matter. This is your domain. If you want it changed, then I’ll change it. End of story.”
Her eyes round as the frown fades. She’s quiet for a moment before she whispers, “Okay.”
It’s the most reactive she’s been in eighteen fucking days.
Clearing my throat, I ask, “Do you play chess?”
She smiles. It’s small but warmer than the last one, more genuine. “I do.”
“Would you like to play a game with me?”
The smile grows. Merrick glances out the window, thinking for a moment. “I don’t know,” she says coyly. “I can be very competitive. Is it really a good idea to give that free rein?”
A grin overtakes my face. “Hell yes, it is. I want to see you unleashed.”
I bring the board over from the bookshelf it normally lives on, and Merrick begins setting up the pieces on the coffee table while I drag an armchair over, settling in once we finish setting it up. She takes black, and I go first as white. She knocks my knight off the board much faster than I saw coming. I try to nab her bishop, but it doesn’t work. Before I know it, she’s mopping the floor with me, smirking as she asks, “I thought you knew how to play?”
“I thought I did too,” I mutter, then ask if she’ll play me again.
She agrees, only to put me in checkmate even faster than the first time. I beg for one more game, but that one is just as short as the first two. It doesn’t matter, though, because by the time I clean up the board after our third game and ask for a rematch tomorrow, those midnight eyes are sparkling as she accepts my challenge.
Ender didn't wina single game of chess against me that first night. Or the second. Or even the third. He’s a fast learner, though, improving with each game as he figured out my patterns and adapted accordingly. By the fourth night, he was able to survive long enough to make for an interesting game before I put him in checkmate. But no matter how many times he loses—or how badly he loses—he always asks for a rematch. Every time. Despite myself, I find that I'm agreeing to the next game a little faster each time, wondering how his tactics will shift.
My alarm goes off, sending me scrambling to quiet it as quickly as possible so it doesn’t wake Ender. It’s only when I’ve got the alarm silenced that I remember it’s Monday, the day of Ender’s early meeting, and that he shouldn’t be in here right now. Rolling over confirms that I’m the bed’s sole occupant, something that would have delighted me only a week ago but now makes me feel oddly unmoored. Normally, I’m up before he is, preferring to get an early workout and shower in before starting my day. He does, too, but despite the incredibly robust home gym he’s built and outfitted here, Ender and Roman usually meet and work out together in thecity, so he’s gone by the time I’m done and coming back to the room to get ready for the day. He mentioned waking early, so I guess he’s already in his study.
Sticking to my normal routine, I slide out of bed and throw on my workout clothes. I swing into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and a protein shake, pausing long enough to say good morning to the staff congregating there. Ender doesn’t keep a lot of staff for the house, and he all but boots them out by five every evening, so even I don’t run into them all that often unless I’m trying to. I’ve learned they have what they call “morning meeting” first thing every day, where they sit, drink coffee, and discuss their plans for the day while Kenna, the head chef, makes breakfast. It gives everyone a chance to reconnect and socialize before heading out to their respective tasks and guarantees everyone at least has a solid meal before getting too distracted. I think it’s sweet, even if it did take a week before they’d all stop freezing when I walked in. Now they just say hi, and Kenna sets out what I need on the counter to grab on my way through.
When I get to the gym, I turn on the lights and the sound system before sitting down to stretch. The speakers connect with my phone, and music starts filtering through the room, something upbeat and energizing, while I drink part of my shake and scroll through my emails to make sure nothing’s caught fire overnight. Skimming my inbox, I see an email from a long-time client requesting we schedule her annual shopping appointment soon. Mrs. Arnoult also requests that both Len and I be present for said meeting, but that's not unusual. She buys a small fortune worth of art at this appointment every year, so if she wants Len and me to ply her with mimosas and feed her ego while she writes us checks, then we will.
I hit reply all and cc Jules, letting everyone know to set something up in the next week or two, and I'll be there. Once that’s sent, I hop up and begin pulling equipment for today'sworkout. My time here every morning has become one of my favorite parts of the day. I’m more focused and able to keep my emotions better under control when I have an outlet for them here.
Not to mention, there's a lot of…tensionto work through. Ender’s scent, his misty eyes and ink-etched skin, and those fucking sleep pants all collude against me in an effort to break my resolve. It's almost like Ender's engineered my schedule to allow me zero alone time in private, and my vagina has noticed. Yet another good reason to take a day or two back home for Mrs. Arnoult: so I can get off in peace. And if I happen to be thinking about my husband while doing it? Well, that's between me and my vibrator.
I'm so engrossed in breathing through my deadlifts and making plans for an upcoming ménage à moi that I startle when I hear the doors open behind me. Finishing out my set, I set down the barbell and face the two trespassers. Ender and Roman both greet me before Roman heads to a bench set up for chest press and starts making adjustments. Ender, of course, makes a beeline for me. “Hope we aren’t intruding. We had some time to kill after getting everything arranged and thought we’d get in a quick lift.”
I grab a sip of water before I wave him off. “It's fine. I probably won’t be long today.”
He nods, hitting me with a blinding smile before joining Roman, who's already sitting on the bench waiting. I reset the deadlift station before moving to the squat rack. Settling the steel bar across my shoulders, I walk the bar off the rack. I check my balance, reposition my form, and then take it ass-to-grass before powering through to standing again. I’m about to begin my second rep when I hear a smack and Roman's cackling laugh, and my head swivels toward the noise. Ender's blatantly gawking at me, mouth hanging open just like it was when he saw me in my party dress three weeks ago. It’s then that a thought comes to me—I’m not the onlyone suffering from repressed sexual tension in this house. And if I can’t trust myself to fuck my husband, maybe I should fuckwithhim instead.
I finish my squats, stopping to re-rack the bar and bend over to stretch out my quads and calves in between each set as obnoxiously as possible. Then it's time to put on a real show. I go through every exercise I can think of that puts my ass on full display. Side lunges, split squats, literally anything I can think of to glue that man’s eyes to my ass.
Halfway through, the guys both ditch their shirts, going down to just athletic shorts and sneakers. Jesus, if I thought Roman’s face was nice to look at, it’s got nothing on his pecs. Whereas Ender looks built for speed and precision, Roman is built for strength. To top it all off, when he turns away, I get an excellent look at the giant Cerberus tattoo on his back, black ink and mahogany skin rippling over muscle as he shifts and moves.
I never cared one way or the other about tattoos before, but over the past month, I’ve definitely developed a taste for tattooed men. Today, I think, staring at my husband’s shirtless torso, that taste has evolved. It now includessweaty, tattooed men. Sweaty, tattooed men who have little rivulets of sweat tracing the lines of their Adonis belt, detailing the exact path my tongue wants to take right now.
Gathering my things, I walk over to them to wish them luck at their meeting. And then, because Ender made an effort to communicate with me about this meeting ahead of time, I tell him about the trip I’m planning back to Reddington. When I finish, he nods his head and says, “I'll tell Logan. Let me know when plans are finalized, and I'll move my schedule accordingly.”
I can feel my eyebrows slamming together as I blurt out, “What for?”
Ender’s eyebrows knit to match mine. “So I can come with you.”
I force myself to breathe out slowly through my mouth so I don't sound like a bull about to charge. “You don't have to do that. I'll be staying at my house there and will only be gone for two days. Surely you'd rather stay here and not disrupt your schedule?”
