“Oh?” Henrik poured a healthy dose and returned to his chair, swishing the drink in a circular fashion. He settled himself back down and stared up at Marco and Tristan. “He wants help from his son-in-law, but he sent his nephews. Hmmm...” Henrik nodded slowly.
“If you aren’t going to do it, fine,” Marco snapped.
“Like I said, make them a better deal.” Henrik shrugged.
“That’s not the point,” Tristan hammered. “If we try to lure them away, that looks bad. For everyone.”
He gripped the glass harder to keep his irritation channeled away from his features. “Not for me, but I can see what you mean. I hire some men, and your uncle tries to pilfer them. Yeah, that looks bad. And if they take the new offer…well, then they look like traitors. Not really a good route to take here.”
“The only way it works is if you give them up,” Marco said.
“Now I’m interested. Why are two men so damn important? Do you know them?”
“New routes need more men,” Marco said.
“It’s Creon’s business.” Tristan talked over his brother, giving a subtle shake of his head toward Marco.
“New routes?” Henrik asked, his headache building. They stared back at Henrik, angry glares and silent lips. “Ahhh…” Henrik sank back into his chair. “Haden has reached out to you.”
“We didn’t say that,” Marco said. Henrik had lied better when he was a still in Pull-Ups.
“I don’t think you needed to. He’s looking for more men, more families to back his claim that he should have more power in the Network, and my father-in-law is willing to break the alliance he paid for with his daughter to support Haden?” Henrik grasped at straws, but the looks on their faces gave credibility to irrational fears.
“Don’t say anything.” Tristan swiped a hand across the air in front of Marco. “He has no right to know anything about our business dealings. If we want to do business with Haden, or anyone else in the south, it’s our business, not his.”
Henrik’s heart pounded in his chest, matching the painful thumping in his head, but he sipped his scotch while keeping a steady glare fixed on Tristan.
“Well, unfortunately, I can’t help you or your uncle. My men are my men.”
“We’ll be sure to relay the message to Christian.” Tristan curled his lips inward.
“Before we go, we’d like to see our cousin.” Marco stepped forward, his features softening. Henrik could deny them, just to be spiteful, but it would hurt Megara more than them. She wasn’t a prisoner, and not allowing her to visit family would unsettle her.
“Is Megara home?” Henrik asked Oliver. He hadn’t spoken to her since breakfast, but she hadn’t left his mind all day. Too often he found himself wondering what she was doing at home, if she was bothering Gunter in the kitchen, or if she was busy planning their wedding celebration. Had she gone out, stayed in, was she happy? The last concern had needled its way into his mind and hadn’t left.
Was she happy? With him? With her life in his home? She’d been cheerful while cooking the night before. When he’d complimented the dish, a lightness he hadn’t seen before had entered her eyes. He’d go back on his word and fire Gunter if that would make the joy in her eyes a permanent change. The old man could help her make cookies when the children came along.
“She is,” Oliver stated flatly, staring at the brothers. “She’s in the kitchen,”
“You have her cooking for your household like some servant?” Tristan shot at Henrik.
“You forget so quickly about your cousin’s dreams?” Henrik downed the last bit of his drink and moved to his feet. “For such a loving, caring family, that surprises me.” He turned to Oliver. “Show the boys to the kitchen so they can speak with Megara. I’m going upstairs to shower.” His glass resounded with a heavy clunk as he placed it down on an end table. Without further goodbye for the brothers, he walked out of the living room.
“Did he fucking call us boys?” Marco’s hushed question followed him out into the hall. If it wouldn’t have upset Megara so much, he’d throw the bastards out of his house himself. But she would definitely be upset.
And he wouldn’t allow that.
Not even from himself.
24
“Are you certain?” Every cell in Megara’s body froze as she stared at Sarah standing in the doorway, her hands clasped so tightly, circulation would become an issue soon.
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. and Mrs. Olympus will be returning early from their trip. They are due to arrive tomorrow morning.” Sarah released the death grip on her hands and smoothed them over the skirt of her uniform. “The staff has already been informed to ready their suites. Is there anything else you would like done?”
“No. Whatever you typically do when they arrive. I’m sure Henrik has some sort of way he deals with these visits.”
A smile formed on Sarah’s lips, but she quickly recovered and wiped it away. “Yes, ma’am. We know what to do.”
Megara nodded. “Good.” She picked up the guestlist from the desk she was working at in the library. “Have we received any more responses? With such a quick turnaround, I was certain there would be more declines, but it seems everyone is coming.”
“Who would reject an invitation from Henrik Hercules?” Sarah asked quietly.
Megara looked up at her. “I suppose you’re right. Can’t risk offending Jackson Olympus’s son.” She dropped the list onto the desk and pressed her fingers to her temples.
“Who would dare?” Henrik walked into the room, brushing past Sarah, a mocking scowl on his lips. Sarah dropped her gaze to the floor, her cheeks instantly red.
“You don’t need to be so scary when you enter a room,” Megara chided playfully. The past few days, Henrik had been different with her. Softer, gentler. Not in the way he took her each night—those times were as raw and savage as ever—but during the day, she found herself looking for his little smiles, the phrases of approval. Her body didn’t recoil into a tight spring when he neared her. Instead, she found herself relaxing whenever he came around.
“Did I frighten you?” Henrik asked her.
She gestured to Sarah planted to her spot in the doorway.
“Sarah, right? That’s your name?” He drew her attention. Shouldn’t he know the names of his staff?
“Yes, sir,” she stated.
“I’m going to take my wife out for the afternoon. While we’re gone, I’d like all her things moved from her suite into mine.” He cast a serious gaze at Megara as he continued. “She hasn’t done so yet, even though I’ve told her several times she won’t be needing the private suite anymore.”
“I can do it this afternoon—”
“It will be done before you’re back,” Sarah promised, then took the opportunity to bolt.
“I said I’ll move my things. You didn’t need to make the staff do it.” Megara walked around the desk and settled before him. She kept back a few paces so she wouldn’t have to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.
“My father and Hera will be here tonight,” he said, disregarding her statement.
“I know.” She let out a soft sigh. “Sarah was telling me. I’ve asked their suite to be prepared, but since they were just here, I doubt there’s much to do.”
Henrik laughed. “You haven’t been around Hera enough. She has particular tastes and expects perfection.”
“And that applies to me as well, I suppose.” She hadn’t spent any time with her mother-in-law, not that either of them seemed to regret it.
“You’re married to me, Megara.” He stepped forward and brushed her hair behind her shoulders. “You’ll never be enough to Hera.”
Megara searched his eyes, but he kept his feelings locked tight behind a blank stare. “That couldn’t have been fun growing up with, knowing your mother was always moving the finishing line for her approval.”
Henrik lifted a shoulder. “She’s not my mother. And I can’t blame her too much. Having her husband’s bastards living in
the same house as her couldn’t have been easy.”
“She could have left him. She didn’t need to accept his affairs,” Megara stated with heat. “If she was going to allow you and your brothers to live with them, she should have been as loving to you as she was her own children.” None of Henrik’s half-siblings from Hera had even called with congratulations, and so far, none had responded to their invitations.
Henrik’s lips curled up in a smile. “I was a constant reminder of my father’s betrayal.”
“Yes.” She pressed her hands to his chest. “His betrayal, Henrik. Not yours. You committed no sin.” She paused. “At least not then.”
Henrik laughed. “And I thought it would take years for you to be so comfortable enough to point out my flaws in such a wifely fashion.”
“Oh? Did I not point them out at the very beginning?” she said playfully, but darkness flashed across his features, and she slipped her hands away.
“You did,” he said somberly.
“I was teasing, Henrik.” She smiled. “What are you doing here anyway? It’s the middle of the day, shouldn’t you be arm wrestling someone for their lunch money?”
“I’m in charge around here,” he pointed out. “Which means the men you see wandering around here work for me. They do the arm wrestling, I just point out who to wrestle.”
“I forgot,” she tapped his shoulder, “you’re a big scary man, Mr. Hercules. I should be frightened right down to my toes.”
“But you aren’t,” he grunted. “Cautious maybe, not properly scared.” He shook his head. “Maybe I can change that tonight.”
“I doubt it,” she deadpanned. Even after their first night together, when she should have been frightened to her core, she wasn’t. Something was definitely wrong with her.
“Hmmm…we’ll see. But first, you need a new dress for the party,”
“I do?” she asked with raised brows. She had plenty of party dresses, most of which she hadn’t even worn once thanks to her mother’s policy of always having a well-stocked closet.
“You do, and I’ve made an appointment with Kiersten Atlas.” He made a show of checking his empty wrist. “If you keep talking instead of getting your purse, we’ll be late.”
“Late? Can Mr. Hercules ever actually be late?”
“Such a tease. I hope your ass is able to handle the trouble you’re bringing it.”
Megara stilled for a moment. He hadn’t taken his belt to her in a punishing fashion since he’d brought her downstairs.
“Your purse, Megara,” he said. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
* * *
Kiersten Atlas’s boutique was nestled in the heart of the shopping district. She was one of the most sought-after designers. Megara’s mother had tried, and failed, several times to hire her.
The subtle scent of lilac filled the air as Megara entered the shop with Henrik directly behind her. Even with his bulk, he moved gracefully, as though he owned the space and everyone inside it. Her father had always exuded confidence, and plenty of arrogance, but even he never seemed to have such an easy command of his surroundings.
“Henrik!” A tall woman with long blonde hair swept up in a high ponytail glided toward Henrik with her arms outstretched. Megara stepped aside as she approached to avoid being run over.
“Kiersten.” Henrik didn’t raise his hands, but instead gave a curt nod. It didn’t stop Kiersten from grabbing his biceps and giving him what could only be described as an air hug before stepping back with a loud clap.
“It’s been so long since you’ve come down here.” A brilliant smile appeared on her deep-red painted lips. “What do I owe this pleasure?” she asked, still not acknowledging Megara’s presence.
Henrik pulled Megara to his side. “My wife needs a dress for our wedding celebration,” he said, seemingly unimpressed by the beauty before him.
Slowly, Kiersten’s blue-eyed gaze swept over Megara. “Oh, yes. I did hear about your nuptials! Megara Creon, is that right?”
“Hercules. Her name is Megara Hercules now,” Henrik stated firmly.
Kiersten’s smile widened. “Such a possessive husband. Of course that’s her name now.” She stepped back, drumming her finger tips on her chin, appraising Megara. “I think I have just the thing.”
Before Megara could speak, Kiersten disappeared into a back room.
“It’s like she just poofs in and out,” Megara muttered under her breath.
Henrik chuckled. “She’s a bit of a floater, yeah.” He dropped his hand from her arm.
“I can handle this on my own, you know. You didn’t have to come down here with me.” Megara walked around the shop, admiring the beautiful gowns on display.
“I wanted to,” he said from across the shop, picking up a lavender scarf and sniffing it. “Does everything in here smell like flowers to you?”
She laughed. “It’s a soft scent. It’s meant to put you at ease,” Megara explained.
He contorted his face into a painful grimace.
“Don’t sniff everything,” Megara chastised with a laugh when he picked up the arm of a blouse hanging on a manikin and brought it to his nose.
He smiled and dropped the clothing. His grin, the delicate happiness lightening up his eyes, kicked Megara’s heart rate up. Playful Henrik was almost as sexy as serious, dangerous Henrik.
“Here we go.” Kiersten breezed back in with a white lace dress. “We’ll probably need to alter it a bit, and I think adding some pearl accents along the seams here and here would really give it a kick in the ass.” She looked at the dress, then to Hendrik. “What do you think?”
“Megara, what do you think?” Henrik passed the question to her.
“Uh…well...” Megara picked up the lace sleeve of the dress. “It’s a little…virginal?” She looked back at Henrik, whose lips ticked as though he wanted to laugh, but he straightened it out quickly.
“I see what you mean. Yes. Forget the sleeves. We’ll take those off, and I think this rounded neckline needs to go as well. Are you thinking a deep or soft V?” Kiersten directed the question to Megara.
“Hmmm…” Megara nibbled on her lower lip. A deep neckline would make the little vein in her mother’s forehead throb. “The deeper, the better, I think,” Megara said confidently.
“And take off all that lace.” Henrik moved beside Megara and waved at the dress.
“I sort of like the lace overlay,” Megara argued.
“You’re not an old maid, and I won’t be able to see your breasts and ass as well with all that covering it up,” he said flatly. Megara’s face erupted into a heated inferno.
Kiersten giggled. “A man who knows what he likes. Very well. Let me bring out something that might match exactly what you’re thinking of.” She turned on her heeled sandals and disappeared again as quietly as she’d entered.
“My ass and breasts?” Megara groaned.
Henrik laughed. “Be grateful I don’t have you naked all night.”
“You wouldn’t—”
“Always assume I will,” Henrik said firmly. His phone rang, and he retreated to the corner of the room with it pressed to his ear, leaving Megara to live in her embarrassment on her own. He wouldn’t dare do such a thing. Display her nude in front of all their family and friends. He was kidding. They’d finally found a truce on their battlefield, he wouldn’t give that up just to display his power over her.
Kiersten whirled back in with a white satin dress.
“It’s beautiful,” Megara said wistfully. It was anything but plain, with pearl beading along the back seam and delicate floral stitches throughout the fabric. The neck and backlines matched in depth.
“Now, this is just a prototype I’ve been playing with. But I think with your curves, this would look gorgeous on you. Would you like to try it on? I’ll get some measurements, and if you love it—only if you love it—I’ll get started on making yours.”
“Mine?” Megara touched the elegant stitching on the side seam.
>
“Yes. This is going to be one of a kind. I’ll never reproduce it again. It will be yours and yours alone.”
Megara checked over her shoulder. Henrik stood at the window, still on his phone, gesturing into the air.
“Work.” She smiled at Kiersten when she took notice of Henrik’s position as well. “Yes, let’s try this on.”
Megara followed Kiersten to the dressing room. It could double as a small guestroom, it was so large. Shaped in a pentagon fashion, there were mirrors on four walls. An armchair sat in one of the corners with a small table beside it where a bouquet of fresh flowers was seated in a crystal vase.
Kiersten hung the dress on a small hook on the back of the door. “Would you like my help?”
“I’ll assist her.” Henrik’s deep voice started Megara.
Kiersten pushed on a smile. “I’ll be back in a moment then. Just pop the door open and I’ll know you’re ready for me.” She patted Henrik’s arm, then scooted around his bulking form out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
“How does she know you so well?” Megara asked once they were alone.
He raised his brow. “I’ve used her…services before.” Henrik plucked the dress from the hook and began to look it over. “I don’t like these pearls.”
“Let me get it on before you start tearing it apart.” Megara grabbed it from him and put it back on the hook. Turning away from him, she began undressing. Though, with all the damn mirrors in the room, it didn’t matter where she stood—he’d see everything.
She dropped her blouse onto the armchair and reached behind herself to unclasp her bra.
“What services, exactly have you used of hers?” Megara asked, lifting her gaze into the mirror to catch his in the reflection.
He stepped forward, brushing her hands away from the bra, and worked the clasp open himself. With his fingertips, he slid the straps from her shoulders and let the bra drop to the floor at her feet.
“Only one of us came into this marriage as a virgin, Megara,” he stated. She swallowed, trying to wet the dry spot in her throat.
Finding His Strength: The Dirty Heroes Collection Page 16
