by J. C. Grant
Elaine was still trying to keep me out of the loop.
After plating our breakfasts, I turned back to the stove, slamming the pan down.
Fuck!
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. I had to get myself together and play it cool for a few more hours. No matter how mad I was at Austin, I was going to make sure she was happy and taken care of before I left. Even if it fucking killed me.
Austin
“Sweet girl, wake up.”
Warmth spread through me as David's deep rumble flooded my senses, waking me.
I loved how easily he had let go of his anger. I’d been afraid he’d be pissed for days—and who would blame him. Whether it was real or he was just playing nice before our impending separation, I didn’t know. And at the moment, I didn’t care.
Arching my back, stretching, I cracked my eyes open. He was standing over me with the breakfast tray balanced in one hand, wearing a gray cashmere hoodie that framed that deep indent between his pecs in the sexiest way and low-slung black lounge pants that displayed his prominent V. When my eyes finally landed on his face, his expression was expectant, a grin slowly forming as we watched each other.
“What?” My unused voice was a soft rasp.
“Just wondering how long you're gonna put on this little show for me.” His eyes darted down to my chest, reminding me I slept in the nude.
I was far too comfortable with him. Physically. Emotionally.
Pulling the sheet up, I sat up and scooted back against the headboard.
“Oh no. You don't get to cover up now.” He placed the tray over my lap and tugged the sheet down.
“No, I need it.”
“You need it?” His voice was full of disbelief, despite his sexy smirk.
“Yes.” Then I countered, “You're wearing a hoodie.”
He gave me a teasing side-eyed look as he rounded the bed, and grumbled, "Fine."
That's when I noticed the large pink canvas bag in his other hand.
Pulling the sheet back up, I tucked it underneath my arms, waiting expectantly. “What's that?”
He placed the bag at my feet and snuggled in next to me, leaning his heavy frame against the plush gray headboard.
“Looks like Elaine is already hooking you up with stuff,” he muttered as he snagged his fork off the tray and started eating while simultaneously turning on the TV, flipping through channels—never pausing.
“Like a present?”
“No, you just got your first swag.”
Like what he was always receiving. Two of the guest bedrooms’ closets were full of swag from several companies. But I was nowhere near the position he was. I was famous adjacent.
“Seriously?” I asked a little too excitedly.
Where he had positioned the bag, and with the tray over my lap, I couldn't reach it, which I guessed was the point.
He grumbled, reluctantly grabbing the bag, yanking it up toward us. I didn't hesitate, pulling the items out. Holding the black material up, I realized it was shorts. Sweatshorts.
“There's no fucking way you're wearing those in public,” David stated.
He was overreacting; they weren't that short.
Okay, fine. They'd cover less than my boy shorts. There was no way I would set foot out of the house wearing them.
Unless I was on a beach.
Not bothering to respond, I looked though the rest of the items. There were several V-neck sweatshirts: pink, black, gray, and turquoise. The fabric of each was utterly divine.
“Why am I getting free swag?”
He blew out a harsh breath. “Apparently, people got some really good shots of our costumes at the party. And those pics have been making the rounds.” Then he grumbled pointedly, “Understandable why they sent those tiny-ass shorts.”
Ignoring his dig at my Halloween costume, I murmured, “I love these.”
And I did. Not because they were exceptionally nice, which they were. Nope. I loved them for what they represented. Getting free swag delivered to your front door was a whole new level for me—even if I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant yet.
“Not fucking around about the shorts,” he warned between bites, never taking his eyes off the TV.
I was so tempted to taunt him with, While the cats away...
Instead, I shoved everything back in the bag, and started in on my omelet.
After a few minutes of silence, he asked, "You gonna be okay at your shoot without me?"
Oh crap.
I had a photo shoot the next day. I hadn't actually allowed myself to believe it. And the sincerity in his voice... He was really concerned.
“Yeah, Elaine and Fergus will be there with me—they're no substitute for you, but I'll be okay.”
I didn't know what I’d said, but the way he turned and looked at me made me pause.
He gripped the back of my neck, gently tugging me toward him as he pressed a firm kiss to my forehead. When he pulled away, he returned to eating without a word, leaving me slightly stunned.
Once my brain kicked back in again, I leaned over, grabbing my phone off the nightstand.
“What're you doing?” he asked, watching me scroll through my contacts list.
“I didn't really think you were gonna let me stay home without you,” I admitted sheepishly.
A small laugh escaped him as he leaned over, pressing another kiss to my temple. He held there a moment, his lips and breath warming my skin. Heat bloomed in my chest, accompanied by an unfamiliar emotion. My jaw clenched tight as it threatened to overwhelm me.
Clearing my throat, I asked, “What time are you leaving?”
“Don't worry about it, sweetheart. Just make sure you get your appointments in today. I want you to feel good—confident. Do what you need to do.”
There were no words for how good that made me feel, knowing he supported me, even when it wasn’t what he wanted. My eyes stung, threatening to over flow. “There's no way I'm leaving this house before you do,” I swore fiercely, blinking away my tears.
He looked over at me then, studying me. A pleased sound escaped his throat before he answered, “Ten. You've got me for two and a half more hours.”
CHAPTER THREE
Three hours later, I was getting ready for the day. And after the workout David gave me, I was reconsidering going to the gym. Once we'd finished eating, he set the breakfast tray on the floor, and in the next second, he was on top of me. He fucked me like he had something to prove. And, dear God, could that man fuck. I was going to be feeling him inside me for days.
I felt bruised.
Inside and out.
There was definitely one part of me that was grateful to have a break from David and his magic cock.
Yeah, right. If he hadn’t left, you'd still be begging for all nine plus inches of that sweet pain.
Deciding to stick with my planned schedule, I dressed for the gym then grabbed my purse off the closet island before heading out, without Chance. With my jammed schedule, I couldn't take him along. As I headed toward the garage, I turned to him. His expectant face broke my heart.
“I'll be back soon, Chance. Be good.” I forced myself to turn and walk out to the garage without looking back.
That was one change in the routine that made me feel awful, though the rest of the changes felt great. I mean, I wouldn't change a thing about David, but I liked change. And I had always loved my freedom—to go and do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Climbing into my car, I felt that freedom I had missed.
By the time I was heading to my last appointment for the day, I noticed I hadn't heard from David, but I was confident I would before I made it home. Though, I had to admit to myself, I was enjoying my space. Running errands, getting waxed and a body buff without questions, texts, or calls... it was nice.
Until it wasn’t.
Any happiness about my day of freedom evaporated when I walked in the house, finding Chance waiting for me—in the dark—in the same spot I left him. Instantly, I
was guilt-ridden.
“Oh, Chance,” I cooed, showering him with affection. Hugs, kisses, and ear rubs. Over and over, until he grew bored. Once he walked away, I dug my phone out of my bag, checking it for the eighth time in the past two hours.
It was almost six p.m., and still no calls or texts from David? Staring at my screensaver—David and Chance asleep on the couch together—I felt a dull ache in my chest.
Leaving my phone and bag on the counter, I headed for the bathroom. I quickly stripped down and showered, all the while trying to muzzle that little insecure voice telling me, He doesn't miss you. Hasn't thought about you once, or he would've called.
When I stepped out of the shower, that ache was still there. Refusing to acknowledge it, I headed to the closet. After finding one of my favorite bras, I grabbed the black sweat shorts and an oversized V-neck sweatshirt from the pink swag bag and quickly dressed. But the sensation grew stronger the more I tried to ignore it.
What the fuck is that? Nausea?
Still in denial, I rubbed my sternum, as if that would make it go away. Chance's appearance in the doorway broke me from my thoughts.
“Hey, buddy. You hungry?” I asked, before heading for the kitchen, Chance trailing close behind me as I went through the first floor turning on TVs and nearly every light, eliminating the dark corners and utter silence, along the way.
After feeding Chance, I turned to the kitchen island, intending to look for takeout menus, but my gaze landed on my phone sitting there, mocking me. Taunting me.
Don’t do it... Nothing good will come from it.
Unable to control myself, I grabbed the phone and Googled David Taylor Vogue.
A heavy knot formed in my stomach as I stared at the screen. David was shirtless with two gorgeous women wrapped around him, their hands on his abs, his deep V. Image after image of him with two topless models.
Instantly, I knew what that ache was. I felt forgotten. Abandoned. I felt like nothing.
Was he going to do something similar this time? I should've gone with him, been there to stake my claim. He was mine. I didn’t want anyone touching him.
How the hell was I going to make sure those Italian models kept their perfectly manicured paws off my husband? Could I even do that? Could I tell him not to do that?
After a moment, I realized, It’s his job. And I didn’t feel like I had any say.
I hated that.
It was his job to be sexy.
And he was too fucking good at it.
As I stared at the images, memorizing every detail, the doorbell rang, interrupting my self-inflicted torture.
When I reached the foyer, I found Fergus on the porch, wearing his signature black suit and white button-up shirt, looking at me expectantly.
Soon as I opened the door, he stated briskly, “We're having a sleepover.”
“Really?” I asked, doubtfully. “Does David know?”
“Who do you think sent me?” His thick Scottish accent filled the open space as he brushed past me.
The way Fergus rudely entered the house made me feel better. It gave me a slight reprieve from my inner turmoil. Shutting and locking the front door, I followed behind him, noticing the large bag he was carrying.
“How long are you planning on staying?” I asked cautiously.
“Until David gets back,” he answered, not bothering to look at me. “I'm guessing he forgot to tell you about this."
“Yeah, I guess so.” He also forgot to tell me he’d be with naked girls. Then it occurred to me. “When did he tell you?”
“Today,” he answered efficiently.
I desperately wanted to know if he'd spoken to David since he'd been on the plane, but I didn't want to seem needy and insecure, so I said nothing.
As I made my way back to the kitchen, Fergus went upstairs, apparently claiming one of the guestrooms.
Part of me was grateful to have a distraction from David’s absence, and all that that entailed, but a bigger part of me was more concerned with what it meant. Because it didn’t seem like something David would be cool with—Fergus spending the night with me. And why wouldn’t David tell me Fergus was coming over?
Determined to ignore my racing thoughts, I gathered up the ingredients for the pasta, shrimp, tomato thingy David frequently made and set them on the kitchen island. I wasn’t hungry—the knot in my stomach saw to that—but I needed an activity to focus on while trying to compose myself.
Just as I was setting the water on to boil, Fergus entered the kitchen. He was wearing gray sweats and a black tank. Nothing else. He stood next to me, hovering. Then he was nudging me out of the way.
“Go on.” He nodded toward the kitchen island.
“What, why?”
Fergus' eyebrow lifted. “I’m here to take care of you—and I don’t think I’d ever hear the end of it if I let you cook for me.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that. But I relented, sitting down at the kitchen island. My bare thighs and cheeks against the seat reminded me I should go change, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. I was still reeling from those photos and Fergus’ arrival.
Something was wrong.
Fergus’ presence.
David’s silence.
I stared at Fergus’ back as he cooked, taking in every efficient movement. I didn’t know a lot about Fergus, but I knew was he was ex MI6, had probably done things I couldn’t even imagine, and most importantly, he had the answers I was both terrified of and desperate for. Now the question was, could I swallow my pride and ask.
“What’s wrong?” His voice startled me. He was looking at me over his shoulder, genuine concern in his eyes.
“Nothing,” I lied. “Did you—” I stopped myself before the paranoid inquisition tumbled from my mouth. “Just tired.”
Turning back to his task, he stated, “You miss him.”
“I do not,” I argued, sounding slightly petulant.
Shaking his head, he went to the fridge, grabbing a bottled water, setting it in front of me. “Just call him.”
“I don’t want to call him,” I snapped.
Fergus tilted his head, a resigned expression crossing his face as he turned back to the stove.
I didn't want to call David.
I wanted David to call me.
The possible outcomes of me calling him... Well, I wasn't about to risk it. If I called and he answered, that was proof that he hadn't thought to call me—that I hadn't crossed his mind. And if I called and he didn't answer, all my insecurities and all the what ifs would multiply.
No, he needed to call me. He was the one that needed to explain. Explain why he hadn’t called, why he hadn’t warned me about his shoot, and why Fergus was babysitting me.
I spent the next four hours, silently torturing myself over those questions. And Fergus let me; he never once tried to engage with me for the rest of the night. It wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it was almost like he knew understood exactly what I was feeling.
Jealousy, anger, and betrayal. All born from fear. Fear David wasn’t alone. Maybe he had a sexy flight attendant, or a model or two on that private jet with him. All over him.
I’d been self-contained my whole life, in absolute control over my emotions. But now...
This was what I’d been afraid of. Needing David. Being dependent on him for my own emotional stability. Without his constant presence, without his reassurance, I was pure chemical chaos inside. Dozens of conflicting emotions bouncing around inside me and nowhere to direct them, and no way to control them.
Standing up from my spot on the couch, I announced, “I'm going to bed.”
I needed to be alone. I preferred my internal meltdowns to be in private.
“I'm here if you need anything.” Fergus’ voice was soft, understanding. Which only made me feel ten times worse.
I nodded once and headed to my room, Chance hot on my heels. Shutting the door behind me, I pressed back against it, watching as Chance hopped on the bed, spr
awling out in the middle.
At least one of us was fine with David’s absence.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to cry.
What I really wanted was David blowing up my phone, quizzing me about my every little move. Amazing how quickly I changed my tune from I love my freedom to where are my chains. Crawling between the sheets, I turned on the TV, trying to stop my thoughts from running away from me.
It was only ten fifteen and I was in bed.
I couldn't help but wonder if this was David's plan: keeping me at home and far away from any activities that might not meet his approval, while he was doing who-the-fuck knew what on a private jet.
****
I don’t know how long I laid there, cuddled up with Chance, taking comfort in him while trying to shut my mind off.
The mind was a tricky thing. It could wander off in a dozen different directions in a matter of seconds without your permission. Add in the roller coaster of emotions raging through me... I would’ve had better luck herding cats.
I was ping-ponging between wanting David to call so badly it hurt, and wanting to smash my phone, ensuring I ignored him until he came home.
A knock on the bedroom door pulled me from my internal debate. Half a second later, it opened, revealing Fergus, holding my phone up.
“You left this in the kitchen.”
Yeah, it wasn’t an accident.
I figured I’d have a better chance of getting myself under control if I wasn’t looking at the damn thing every thirty seconds.
Fergus came over to my side of the bed, placing my phone on the nightstand. His gaze darted over my face, as if looking for a sign. I could guess what. Tears. His sympathetic expression confirmed what I already knew, my emotionless mask was long gone.
“Just call him.” His tone was soft, but there was something underlying it... Regret?
Before I could fully process Fergus’ unusual behavior, he disappeared into the hall, shutting the door behind him.
