Page 93 of A Secret and a Lie
His chest expands, his muscles and ropes of sinew popping and bulging in all the perfect places. I shamelessly look my fill of his exposed tanned skin, enjoying every divot and groove as I imagine how those cut lines and obvious strength might feel beneath my tongue.
When I’m finished admiring his chiseled abdomen and well-defined Adonis belt, I meet his eyes once more. He truly is a beautiful specimen of a man. It’s too bad I won’t get the chance to find out what that body might feel like entangled with mine, no matter how much I might crave the experience.
“This isn’t laying low, Gen. This is paintinganothertarget on your back.”
“Funny, I don’t recall agreeing to ‘lay low.’” My lips curl as I turn back around, ready to face the day with a newfound fortitude.
“What are you doing? What’s your plan?”
I don’t even glance over my shoulder as I answer, “Vengeance.”
Henry pulls up his pants, his hands still trembling as he fumbles with the button. I place the strap-on on the dresser to be cleaned later and move toward the bar, fixing myself a martini.
The cocktail shaker grows icy beneath my fingertips as I pour the contents into a chilled glass and garnish the cocktail. When I turn around, I find Henry staring at the wedding band adorning my finger.
“It’s true, you’re really married then?” His kind eyes hold a vulnerable softness, and I wonder if it’s from coming as hard as he just did or something else. “I saw it earlier but didn’t want to say anything until I had…permission.”
Brushing past him, I press a kiss to his cheek that’s now tinged bright pink.
“It’s true,” I tell him, sinking onto the sofa. At least, it’s undeniably my signature on the marriage license.
My ring sparkles from every angle. It’s gorgeous, and I find that wholly irritating.
I thought about removing it before seeing Henry this evening, but Corinne pointed out that I’d ruin the ruse if I was seen without it. While she might be right, I think she’s got a soft spot for Ford. I wish I didn’t understand that. There’s just something about him that’s disarming, which is how I got arrested in the first place.
Henry settles next to me, nuzzling close with a whiskey in his hands. I’ve already made him hydrate and when I’d suggested cocktails after we’d been curled up on the bed for a bit, he jumped at the suggestion.
“I’m just surprised you married anyone, especially Ford Crawford.”
An authentic smile captures my lips. “I certainly never saw it coming either.” Before he can comment further, I change the subject. “How have you been?”
“Worried about you, mostly.” His solemn expression conveys that he means that. “I was concerned that they’d come after you with Percy York’s anti-corruption campaign, but that was terrible, worse than I could’ve imagined.”
Taking advantage of his mood to share, I inquire, “Has York gone after anyone else?”
He shrugs, lifting his glass to his lips. “There’s a rumor that he’s behind the leak regarding the bribery allegations against Donna Hensley.”
Interesting.
Taking down Hensley was simply a warning shot, a reminder to the clients who abandoned me that I still own them.
“Have you had any…trouble yourself?” I probe in an effort to confirm what I already know to be true.
“Certainly not. I trust you.”
Ford is in his study when I arrive back at the penthouse, papers spread out on the desk before him, his hand thrust into his hair as he stares at them. I pause in the doorway on the way to my bedroom. His attractive face is etched with concern and bewilderment, and a small piece of me wants to ask if he’s alright, if he’d like some help.
The bigger part wins.
After changing into shorts, a sports bra, and doing my best to pull my hair into as much of a ponytail as my short bob will allow, which is really just seventy-five percent of my hair, I reemerge. I’m on the stationary bike in less than five minutes.
An hour and a half, and a good sweat later, I’m passing his office once again. This time, I notice how unraveled he appears: shirtsleeves rolled up, hair disheveled, his eyebrows slashed low. It takes more of an effort not to inquire if he’s okay, but I bite my tongue and head to the bathroom for a shower.
Later, I find dinner—oven-roasted salmon and a summer salad—in the refrigerator. After heating it up, I take a seat at the kitchen island and dig in. While I eat, I confirm a scheduling slot with Eliott for tomorrow and scroll through some headlines, the bold text informing me of Hensley’s retirement making me smile around my fork.
It’s quiet, too silent, in the penthouse, and I sigh, giving in to the urge that’s becoming harder to suppress.
After heating up a second plate, I carry it to the study.
