He doesn’t look scared-off enough, so I say, “It gets worse.”
“I can’t imagine worse than whittling wooden duck decoys.”
My stare is full of challenge, but my lips quirk. “One of the guys I dated collected insects.”
He loses his battle. Full-bodied laughter echoes off the walls and I join in.
Finally, he calms enough to talk. “All right. So, tell them you’re studying computers. You’re already learning how to swim. Done. What else?”
If only it could be that easy. “My friends aren’t going to buy it. I wasn’t just dumped for my avid interest in my exes likes and hobbies. I always wanted to know how we were doing as a couple. Because I was always checking in, always asking them—or myself—if I should be doing more.” I put the back of my wrist to my forehead as if checking my own temperature. Like that would tell me what was wrong with me. “If they had a guys’ night out, then I had a girls’ night out. And often” —God, this is humiliating— “I’d make sure it was at the same place he was.”
I cringe and chance a look at him, but he’s sitting quietly, like he’s waiting for the really bad stuff.
A tiny line forms between his brows when he realizes that’s the worst. “Did you also write London with their last name over and over on Natural Glow stationery?”
His lips twist like he’s going to laugh again. But I squeeze my eyes shut and chew on my lower lip. I forgot about all that. It was one thing when I was a kid, but I clearly recall doing that with my ex, Jonathon. “I did. I so did. And that was just last year.”
A thunderous glint darkens his expression, but his lips tip up. “London Dixon. I want to see it written a hundred times.”
“Don’t joke. I’d totally do it. If I liked you.” I look up at him from under my eyelashes. How would he react?
“Do you want your friends to buy this or not?” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “We’ll hover as close to the truth as possible. We met up in Cabo, realized our parents had been friends but went their separate ways, spent the whole vacation together, and when I proposed on the beach, you couldn’t resist a lifetime of mind-blowing sex and said yes.”
I choke over my reply, mostly because it’s way too close to the truth… yet, so far. The sex though… The irony is that I would’ve said yes if he’d asked. I was that girl. “That’s a hell of a coincidence for them to buy that we were both in the same resort at the same time.”
“It was where our parents used to vacation together.” The lie rolls off his tongue so easily.
But it was close enough to the truth that Penni and Holland might not call bullshit.
A ding comes from somewhere on his body. He doesn’t bother looking at his phone. His gaze stays steady on me. “Your company’s here.”
Chapter 6
Jacobi
Laughter filters up into my office. The sun’s going down and my back is to the windows. London’s friends don’t seem to want to leave anytime soon. I had ducked into the office before they entered the house. My wife wanted time to explain.
I’m behind on work anyway. Not only do I have to scour my old contracts to determine if there was someone I froze out who might hold a grudge strong enough to help Sully stalk my wife, but I have actual consulting work to catch-up on after two days stuck in bed.
More laughs, then a high-pitched squeal from one of the women was enough to prompt me to shut everything down. I can’t concentrate. Ordinarily, I’d work past midnight, but my mind is constantly nagging me to look out the window. My day’s been disrupted more than once, and I’m not used to anyone lingering any longer than Chef Big Boy.
To add to my lack of productivity, London came up to tell me that Holland was running out to grab more snacks. And some drinks. I was on gate patrol.
Before Holland came back and the ladies settled in the courtyard, London had changed into a long flowing skirt and a light pink tank top. I stared at her for at least fifteen minutes before an incoming message from one of my clients alerted me to my lapse.
When I’m not spying on her girl-time, her revelations from earlier run in a constant stream through my mind. I’m filled with the urge to track down each one of her exes and beat them for making her feel like she wasn’t good enough, or like she was too much. Then I want to burn every sheet of paper she’d written her name on with some other guy’s last name.
As if all that isn’t bad enough, I’m also wondering why she didn’t do any of that in Cabo.
The migraine. She’d researched it while I was out, then brought me caffeine and meds.
It’s not quite the same thing. And I don’t deserve her infatuation.
More laughter. I blame my curiosity for leading me down the stairs and outside. I’m not getting any work done anyway.
The ladies have three chairs in a circle, surrounding the propane fire pit. Ingredients for s’mores are scattered on the table by the pit. The sun sinking below the horizon and the glow of the fire is giving the three girls an ethereal appeal. Three California earth witches surrounding their hearth.
I already know which friend is which. Penelope Hughes goes by Penni. Her long, dark hair is twined into a high bun. A fitting look for the professional dancer. Like London, she’s in a billowy skirt that’s gathered around her thighs as she sits cross-legged on her lounge chair.
Holland could be a fill-in at a Marilyn Monroe look-a-like contest. It’s her typical style, which is also the branding on her emerging clothing line. I assume the V-neck shorts jumper is one of her designs.
The three met in private school and I found nothing in their pasts to make me think London would be better off without them. Penni and Holland are her ride or die friends.
London’s the first to spot me, surprise brightening the flame reflected in her eyes. “Hey. You hungry?”
Penni twists to peer at me. “So this is the guy, huh?”
London rises and walks toward me, her skirt swirling at her ankles. Do her friends notice she’s stiffer than normal?
“Jacobi, this is Penni.” She points to Penni, who couldn’t look less impressed. Then to her other friend who’s studying me like I’m in the crosshairs of her sniper rifle. “And Holland.”
I incline my head and extend my arm to welcome London into my embrace, the move as natural as can be. She tucks herself under my arm, I dip my head to catch her mouth.
She tenses, and at the risk of overacting, I tip her back in my hold. She clings to me, making the kiss look more believable.
The act must’ve helped me pass inspection. I’m not sure which friend calls, “Get it, girl!”
I release her lips but keep her snug next to me. Her hand fists in my shirt and her face is flushed. Good, she’s as affected as me. My heart’s pounding and it’s all I can do to root my feet in place and not carry her up the stairs caveman style. I doubt she’d let me get far.
“Nice to meet you both,” I say. “Did I hear you had hot dogs?”
I hate hot dogs, but to win her friends over, I’ll gut through a couple.
London threads her fingers through mine. “Yes, let’s go grab them. Anyone need anything?”
Holland grins. “Nope. But we’ll start snooping through the house if you two take longer than a half an hour.”
Good thing I locked my office.
Once we’re in the kitchen, London spins on me and hisses, “What the hell was that?”
“Making it look real.”
Her lips clamp together. She stomps through the kitchen, gathering hot dogs and buns and ketchup. I hold back, enjoying the fire that I started, until she’s ready to go back out.
I take the items from her. “After you.”
She scowls and sweeps outside. I cook up the hot dogs over the fire for all of us. London flits around, serving her friends and chattering about the house. I sit on her lounge chair while she fixes herself a plate. When she turns to take a seat, paper plate in hand, I pat my lap.
If looks could kill…
I
grin and spread my arms, making room for her. Her gaze darts from my lap to her friends. Making this look real wins. But she only perches her pert little ass on one of my knees.
Penelope chews a mouthful as she considers us. “So… whirlwind?”
“I saw her, and I wanted her.” It’s the most honest thing I’ve said in my life.
I wanted what she had. But I wanted her.
I still do. More than ever.
“Tell me all about it.” Holland settles back, expecting a long tale.
London answers for me. “I already told you everything.”
Holland rolls her eyes. “Aren’t newlyweds supposed to make us sick with how in love they are? I mean, look at you two, all snuggled up together.”
London adjusts her position, waking my cock up, not that it takes much with her. “I saw her across the bar and thought to myself, she’s the one I’ve been looking for.”
Penni squeals. “Ooh, and what’d you think when he approached you, London?”
My wife tenses again, having the unfortunate effect of rubbing against my now raging erection. Her breath hitches and she tries to shift again. The pressure of her was exquisite to the point of agony. I tighten my grip on her hip, holding her in place.
“Uh… I thought he was cute. I was, um, wasted… and he didn’t take advantage of me. I thought he was a good guy.” The hint of disappointment in her voice doesn’t escape my notice. Even my dick loses a few ounces of blood.
“Why a quickie wedding?” Holland’s lower lip sticks out in a pout. “I can’t believe we missed you getting married.”
I can feel London’s anxiety vibrating through her body more than see it. She hates lying and risking hurting her friends’ feelings. So I say, “Because I have a business deal in progress that’ll make it hard to get away in the near future. I insisted. I apologize.”
London glances over her shoulder, her gaze luminous. I apologized. For her. I never apologize. I never interacted with someone enough to need to. Her reaction has to be the reason the next words come out of my mouth.
“We’ll have a bigger reception with friends and family.” It’ll be her friends and family. I have two friends and no family.
London jerks her head around again. “We will?” She recovers, feigning nonchalance. “Oh yes, that’ll be fun. We’ll do it on the beach or something.”
“Yes.” Penelope claps her hands. “At sunset. I can see it now. Flowers in your hair with a flowy dress and him in white linen pants and a shirt that’s only half-buttoned. You’ll throw the bouquet and I’ll slap it toward Diana.”
London snickers. “I don’t think Roland’s prepared for that.”
“I can see the sweat dotting his brow and hear his stammering now.” Holland shakes her head, her lips ruefully twisted. “That is the most nervous man I’ve ever met.”
They all giggle about Roland and Diana. I take a moment to look at the ground by the chairs. Aluminum margarita cans meant one thing. These two aren’t driving home. Did London invite them for a sleepover?
Penelope notices me inspecting the empty cans. “Are we crashing your honeymoon? I can call for a ride.”
“No.” I grit my teeth but manage to be congenial. “You’re more than welcome to stay.” Only because I’d look like a dick if I kicked them out and made them come back for their vehicles.
London relaxes, only to stiffen again when her hip grinds my ever-present hard cock.
Holland throws her arm in an arc to encompass my house. “I bet you have a ton of bedrooms in this place.”
London nearly jumps off my lap. I could laugh. She didn’t think through the bedroom situation. I twine my arms around her waist. She has no idea how expressive she is with her body. “Not as many as you’d think. I converted one area into my workspace. The guest room has London’s stuff in it. She wants to remodel the master and decided not to move her things in and then back out.”
Penni stands and stretches, her arms high above her head, baring a toned patch of skin on her abdomen. I bury my nose in London’s hair, having no desire to look at another woman’s body and wanting London to know it.
My body only wants London. And I’m afraid my mind does too.
* * *
London
“I can’t believe this,” I hiss under my breath. I’m standing across from the king bed that Jacobi’s sprawled in. My friends are nestled in the room next to us.
I brought this on myself. I should’ve declined Holland’s offer to make a beer run when she went out for goodies. But I’d been hungry and thought it’d inconvenience Jacobi even more.
Joke’s on me.
He’s shirtless, and for once tonight he isn’t sporting an erection, but his boxer briefs do nothing to hide the size of his manhood. Neither do they do anything to help me forget exactly what it looks like. What it tastes like. How crazy it makes me when I ride it.
“Crawl on in,” he drawls. “You know I don’t bite unless you want me to.”
My cheeks burn. All my clothes are in the other room. I have to keep the integrity of Jacobi’s perfect excuse. “You lie really well.”
“When I need to,” he replies calmly. He didn’t need to lie to me. I bought every half-truth he gave me.
“I imagine you live a life where you need to a lot.” Would I feel better if I wasn’t the only one taken in by him?
“Not as much as you think.”
“That could still be a lot.” I’m cranky, and I don’t care that he played along for my friends. Or that he hasn’t pressured me for sex since we’ve been officially married. Or that he’s protecting me from… something he hasn’t told me about yet. “When can I leave again? We never really talked about it.”
“The guys and I are working on it. I’ll let you know.” He sits up and my belly clenches.
His scruff gives him a mysterious appeal. Then he stands and we’re only feet apart. He’s imposing-looking on a good day, but as the husband I’m not supposed to want, he’s terrifying. But he only turns and flings the covers back, then crawls between the sheets.
I don’t inspect my disappointment too closely. “I want to know what’s going on.”
A shout barrels through the door. “Don’t be quiet on our account.”
Raucous laughter fades into the guest room. After the brush he just gave me, I’m not sure if I should be relieved or insulted that he’s not trying to have sex with me.
“Get in bed, London.” The blanket covers his chest.
“I want to know—”
“And I’m not going to say anything to you from this far away.” Is it a convenient excuse to get me into bed? Or a legitimate concern that means he’s really not trying to fuck me. Dammit.
Regardless, I don’t make a move. I’m still in my skirt and tank top. “I need to borrow one of your shirts.”
He points to the dresser behind me. “Take your pick.”
I take my time, but I’m not going to find anything informational. The house is functional. I’m confident Jacobi’s secrets are on his computer, or somewhere in the cloud. Not in his sock drawer. The first drawer I check has underwear. Plain, solid boxer briefs, a couple pairs of boxers, and a pair of straight-up tighty-whities. Nothing with cartoons or lips on them.
“Hasn’t anyone ever bought you fun underwear?” I move to the next drawer down.
“I’ve been buying my own underwear since I was sixteen. Who else would be doing it?”
I sift through stacks of neatly folded T-shirts. Did Elsa the French Maid do his laundry too? No. That seems too invasive for him. “A girlfriend.”
“I’ve never had a girlfriend.”
Stunned, I whirl around, my skirt twirling. “Never?”
“Never.”
I keep his gaze for several moments. He doesn’t waver or break eye contact.
No. He’s too hot and too rich to never have had a girlfriend. “Right.” Stung that he’d lie to me, I go back to my shirt search.
Bedding rustles. I yank out
the first shirt I find and hug it to my chest. In the mirror, I see that he’s out of bed and stalking toward me.
“When do you think I would’ve dated, London?” His voice is pitched so low that even if my friends were listening at the door, only I could hear. A special frequency tailored just for me. “When I was forging paperwork to keep myself out of the system and in my home after my mom died? Or when I was putting myself through school while doing small-time hacking jobs under the table—all from the dungeon of my bedroom because I couldn’t afford a dorm, or college, or a car? Or after I got my company going and spent eighteen hours a day building it until I could afford to poke my head out the window?” He’s in front of me, towering over me, his shoulders eclipsing his bedside lamp. “I fucked, London. I used an app to find women, meet them, have sex, and I never saw them again.”
He used the past tense about the app. Strange how my brain hooks on that detail. “What if they, uh, need to talk to you again?”
“Why would they?”
“STDs. Babies. Repeats.” One and done doesn’t cut it with Jacobi. He’s an asshole that I wish hadn’t entered my life, but he’s a god in bed.
“I used protection. I would know if they were pregnant, and I don’t do repeats.”
“How would you know they didn’t get pregnant? Condoms fail.”
“My technology doesn’t.”
What the hell does that mean—My eyes widen. “You spy on them?”
His severe expression softens into a don’t be ridiculous eye roll. “I occasionally check up on them to verify, and none have tracked my dating profile down to make the false claim.”
“What would you do if one of them got pregnant?” Whatever possesses me to ask Jacobi so many questions must want me to stay less than a foot away.
“It wouldn’t happen in the first place.”
“But—”
He puts a finger to my lips. “The only woman who should be having my baby is my wife, so keep going if you want to explore that possibility.” His words tick me off enough to play with fire. I flick my tongue across his finger.
Redeemed: Ruined and Redeemed Duet - Book 2 Page 6
