Chapter 9: Finding Forever: Chapter 8

Fern wouldn’t admit it, but she definitely needed this break, and she was happy Cade had suggested it. As she watched the warm, soft sand fall from her fingers, she smiled at her new husband’s grim profile and bumped her shoulder against his bicep in a bid to get his attention.

His head turned immediately, and he pinned her with his stare.

“This was a good idea,” she told him.

He made a rough sound of acknowledgment in the back of his throat before turning his gaze back on the ocean and saying without a hint of humor or irony, “I only have good ideas.”

God, Fern really liked the unapologetic arrogance of him.

“Yes, I have found your ideas to be somewhat adequate so far,” she concurred and he swung that intimidating stare back on her.

“Somewhat adequate?” he repeated sounding affronted and she stifled a giggle. She didn’t reply, letting him stew over her words while she continued to sift sand through her fingers, watching the world around her as she did so. Everybody just seemed so carefree and happy and she envied them that.

“Have you heard from my stepfather yet?” she broke the silence to ask.

“Hah, he’s apoplectic, left an incoherent rage fest of a message on my phone. Threatened to sue, breach of contract, the works.”

“Breach of contract?” she asked, concerned that the repercussions of her defection would be much worse than she’d anticipated.

Cade gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Wishful thinking on his part. If he hadn’t delayed the sale for months, he might have a leg to stand on, but since no documents were signed and he was in serious negotiations with at least two other parties, his claim is weak at best. He’s just flinging shit around and hoping something sticks.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about his message?”

“I’m telling you now,” he pointed out, his voice mild. “Besides, it wasn’t important. Don’t worry about it. Did he call you?”

“I’ve had my phone on do not disturb mode since Thursday night,” she confessed, and his dimples deepened, even though he didn’t smile.

“Good girl, that’s bound to drive him a little insane.” The gruffly voiced praise did odd things to her stomach. She flushed and her breathing quickened. In that moment, Fern recognized that she would do or say anything to get more words of approval and praise from her aloof husband.

That realization shamed and embarrassed her. She’d been so wholly deprived of any and all positive reinforcement since her mother’s death that a few reluctantly conceded words of mild praise from a taciturn man who didn’t like her much were enough to make her glow.

“Do you think so?” The soft question emerged before she could stop it, and he gave her a quizzical look.

“Do I think it’ll drive him insane?” he clarified, and she was grateful that he hadn’t understood that what she’d really meant was do you think I’m a good girl.

Good God, where was her pride?

“Uh, yes.” She was happy to save face.

“Absolutely. He’s used to having you at his beck and call. It’ll drive him nuts knowing that you’re beyond his control and influence.”

“I hope so,” she whispered, not convinced, but cautiously optimistic.

They sat in silence for a while longer.

“Ready to go?” he asked, dusting sand from his hands.

“Yes. Thank you. I did need the break.” Another flash of his dimples before he pushed to his feet and reached down to help her up.

The rush of dizziness that accompanied the movement made her sway alarmingly and Cade’s hands clamped over her bent elbows to steady her.

“Whoa, are you okay?”

“Yes. I just get a little dizzy when I go from sitting to standing too fast,” she explained, then forced a determinedly cheerful smile that did nothing to coax a returning one from him. “But I’m okay now.”

“You’re fucking not okay, stop saying you are.” He sounded annoyed, impatient and it reflected in the dark glower he leveled at her. He led her to the foot of the stairs and turned around, squatting slightly in front of her. She stared at his broad back in bewilderment before he tersely ordered her to hop on.

“What?” she squeaked. “No. It’s a long way up.”

“Unlike some people I could mention, I know when to take breaks. You’re not walking home.”

“No, Cade… if we take our time, I’ll get there under my own steam, you can’t carry me all the way back. I’m too heavy.”

The amount of disdain in the throaty sound he made was pretty insulting and he cocked a skeptical brow as he looked over his shoulder at her.

“No offence but you look like a strong gust of wind could knock you over.”

“Well, I am offended,” she responded indignantly. “I’m sturdier than I appear.”

“You’re a wisp,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Now come on, will you? You’re wasting my time. I have a Zoom meeting in an hour. I need to get showered and changed before then.”

She stared at his back uncertainly. Nobody had ever given her a piggyback ride before, and she wasn’t sure exactly how to go about this. She’d seen it, of course, and understood the basic mechanics of it.

So, she was just supposed to mount his back like she would a horse? If only she knew how to ride a horse.

She shuffled closer and tentatively placed her hands on his broad, muscular shoulders. Then snatched them back instantly when the heat of his skin scorched her palms through the fabric of his shirt.

Okay maybe scorched was too strong a word. Lightly scalded was more realistic. She smoothed her tingling palms over the fabric of her skirt and tried again, curling her palms over his shoulders and launching herself at his back. He absorbed the impact of her weight with a slight—unflattering—oof and quickly hooked his huge hands under her knees to support her. Because she was wearing a rather flowy skirt, his hands found the sensitive bare skin at the back of her knees, and she tried very hard to ignore the unfamiliar sensation of his touch on her skin. But it was difficult when she wasn’t used to being touched, even casually, by anyone.

She lifted one hand from his shoulder in an attempt to check if her skirt was covering her backside and he made an irritated noise, easily hefting her higher up on his back when she slid down slightly.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snapped. “Hold on.”

“Sorry, my skirt was riding up.”

“Christ.” The curse rode its way to her on a whisper, before he raised his voice to ask, “Good to go?”

Satisfied that she was modestly covered, she curled her arms round his neck, hand closing over wrist to create a loose loop. Her legs were sticking straight out and recognizing that it wasn’t very practical or comfortable for either of them, she tucked them back, trapping his hands in the folds of her knees.

She tried not to think about that… or the fact that her front was plastered against his broad back. She wanted to ignore the feel of his strong body beneath hers as he started to climb, but it was hard to do so when her thighs were spread wide over his hips and she was riding above the hard, curve of his tight behind. With nothing but the silk of her panties and the fabric of his shirt between her intimate parts and the small of his back.

They didn’t speak, he walked at a brisk pace, barely seeming to get winded as he went. The movement caused Fern to inadvertently rub against him and she felt—she stifled a groan—God, she felt way too much.

“Do you need a break?” she asked, dropping the question directly into his ear, which was mere centimeters away from her mouth. Lord knew, she needed a break.

He paused, turning his head but unable to quite look at her because of the angle.

“I’m fine. Do you need a break?” For a second, she panicked, wondering if he was asking her that because he knew that she was feeling things. “Are you nauseous?”

Oh. Well, at least he didn’t know about the friction and the tingling and the breathlessness and all of that.

“I’m okay.” Well, if he didn’t know about the breathlessness before, he certainly did now, because it was right there in her voice.

“Then I’m happy to continue.”

“Okay.” Why did the word have to sound like a whimper? He readjusted his grip moving his hands further up the backs of her thighs. This time the sound she made was an actual whimper and he stilled, angling his head toward her again.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked.

“Uh huh.”

He didn’t move for a moment and several people passed them, giving them curious looks. It was only when a guy with a huge cooler box slung over his shoulder jostled Cade, that he started moving again.

He kept a steady pace and before Fern knew it, they were at street level. He loosened his hold on her and she slid down from his back in clumsy haste, fussily straightening her clothing in an attempt to avoid his eyes.

“I can walk from here,” she said after a moment. He was leaning against a railing, his strong arms folded across his chest, while he watched her fuss at her clothing.

“Aye?”

“Definitely.” Oh gosh, the breathlessness was back. She wasn’t even the one who’d done any of the work, but it was hard to remain composed when her nipples were hot coals that felt like they were burning a hole through her bra… And other parts of her felt swollen, achy, and were pulsing with every frenetic beat of her heart.

His eyes narrowed, probing.

“You look flushed,” he observed, his face as grim as his voice.

“It’s a warm day.”

He stepped toward her and—Oh God, how embarrassing—palmed her forehead like she was a child, wrapping his other hand around the nape of her neck to keep her still while his gaze bored into her eyes.

“What are you doing?” she asked on a horrified whisper.

“Checking to see if you have a fever.”

“Of course, I don’t.” She was mortified, but also… Gosh, he smelled really, really good, she wanted to step closer, burrow her nose into the tempting hollow of his neck. Maybe lick it, see if he tasted as good as he smelled.

The unfamiliar longing confused and shocked her. She almost sagged in relief when he released her and stepped away from her.

“Let’s go,” he told her, his voice uncompromising as he turned and squatted again.

Recognizing the futility in arguing, Fern launched herself onto his back. He stumbled slightly as he absorbed her weight but had her comfortably situated in no time.

“Your arse covered?” he asked and she checked the back of her skirt quickly.

“All fine,” she said and he grunted in approval before starting his climb again.

This was fucking torture.

Cade could manage the climb and her extra weight just fine… that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was the feel of her soft, silky skin under his hands, the press of her small breasts with their hard tips against his back, the warm rub of her pussy above his arse, the appealing hitch of her breath right in his ear.

It was damned near intolerable.

This was Fern. His wife. The woman he did not want nor desire. She was all kinds of wrong. Too small, too fragile, too inexperienced, too anemic and sickly looking… too goddamned pregnant.

He didn’t want her.

He kept his focus on the path ahead, ignoring her when she asked again if he needed a break.

Yeah, he needed a fucking break… a break away from her constant proximity.

They’d been married just over twenty-four hours and it already felt like an eternity. How the hell was he supposed to endure another three years of this torture?

She made a breathy whimpering sound in his ear, her warm breath washing over his temple and he glowered at the hapless bloke who was descending the steps directly in front of him. The man visibly swallowed and stepped to the side as Cade continued grimly on, not breaking his stride. Desperate to be home and rid of his burden.

Only there was no getting rid of her. She’d still be there, creeping around the place tentatively, ghosting out of each room he entered. As if he were some bad guy she couldn’t stand to be around.

She made another sound, this one resembling a moan—Jesus why were all her sounds so fucking sexy?—and he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked again, expecting her to once again say that she was fine, and hating that she was lying to him.

“I’m…” Her voice husked into his ear, and he bit back his own pained groan in reaction to it. “I’m a little uncomfortable. I’d like to walk for a bit, please.”

He heaved an impatient sigh and eyed the rest of the steps. There were only a dozen or so to go. He figured she’d be able to manage those if they traversed the path slowly.

“Okay.” He bent his knees and loosed his grip on her thighs, allowing her to slide down carefully.

“Thank you,” she said with a wobbly smile, when he turned around to face her again. Her cheeks were flushed, her pupils blown, her beautiful pink lips were parted, as she panted slightly. His eyes lingered on that succulent top lip before drifting south and snagging on the hard points of her nipples.

Fuck, if he didn’t know better, he’d think she was turned on. But that couldn’t be it. It was hot and she was unwell, which would account of the high color and breathlessness.

As for the nipples, well slipping down his back must have created… friction.

He swallowed, trying to alleviate the dryness in his throat as he considered the concept of friction. Parts sliding against one another, generating heat, tension, sensation…

His eyes drifted even further down as he—for the first time—considered how the rub of her sweet little pussy against his back must have affected her. Did she⁠—

No.

Fuck, what the hell was wrong with him?

He shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the thought from his brain and took hold of her hand.

He needed to get home, where she could go back to being an easily ignored, pale little ghost.

“I have to get ready for my meeting,” Cade’s voice was a low growl.

He’d held her hand all the way up to their building, which had been unexpected. He’d also been solicitous—while selfish with his words—and careful to maintain a slower pace, even when Fern had insisted she was fine. But the second they’d stepped into the lobby of the apartment building; he’d let go of her hand. Simply dropped it like it was the hottest of potatoes and strode ahead of her to the elevator.

They hadn’t spoken for the duration of the short ride up to the penthouse, the silence between them simmering with even more tension than Fern was used to from him.

And now—after delivering his curt, growly statement, he strode toward his room, once again leaving her standing at the front door.

“Well, this feels familiar,” she muttered to herself with an amused snort.

She was tired, the few hours’ sleep she’d had last night had in no way been enough. She decided she’d take a shower and have a nap, maybe he’d be in a better mood after his call.

After a long, satisfying shower, Fern curled up on the bed in just a pair of panties and a T-shirt and reached for her phone. She chewed on her lip as she considered the wisdom of switching it back on. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face the world yet, and deal with the consequences of her impetuous, desperate act.

Also depressing was the fact that she had no one to call, no one in whom to confide. The friend who’d once tried to help her escape from Granger was long gone. Scared off by the awful consequences of that act of kindness. Fern was alone in the world, with no one who cared about her welfare. The only people who currently gave a damn about where she was, were the ones who meant to do her harm.

She stared at the generic wallpaper on her lock screen, and with a few swipes and presses took her phone off do not disturb mode.

The notification alerts immediately started going off, beeps for WhatsApp, pings for texts, buzzes for email… she had no other social media accounts, having no friends to follow or engage with.

She ignored all the notifications and instead opened up her internet browser and searched for her name and sucked in her breath in shock at the number of articles that popped up mere seconds later.

Well, Cade hadn’t lied, the cat truly was out of the bag. So many articles, some of them alluding to a whirlwind romance and a hasty elopement, others dwelling on what the union would mean for the Hawthorne business, other more salacious gossip rags digging into Fern’s background describing her as practically a nun who’d been all but raised in a convent.

A convent… Fern rolled her eyes. Her school had been far from a convent. The staff had been comprised of mostly secular teachers, peppered with a few nuns, religious sisters, and only one priest.

Most of the articles featured an image of Cade in a tuxedo, unsmiling and formidably handsome as he glowered directly into the lens of whichever photographer had captured the image.

The picture of Fern was less flattering, taken at some event or the other that her stepfather had likely insisted she attend. Her hair was up in a tight, high bun, she looked washed out without a smidge of make-up in sight and—worse—she was wearing a severe gray blouse and black skirt combination that made her look very much like the nun they hinted she’d been on the verge of becoming before being “swept off her feet” by Cade.

Fern stared at their pictures and felt a surge of depression. Nobody would ever believe the whole love at first sight nonsense on the strength of these images. Cade Hawthorne could have any woman on the planet and, when they saw that picture of her, people would wonder why Fern?

She’d never minded her appearance much. She’d cursed her sun resistant vampire skin, her lack of height and curves, but she didn’t mind the way her features were put together. They were ordinary, but they weren’t terrible. And her one vanity was her hair, thick, wavy, soft she loved it because it reminded her of her mother. Those evenings before bed when she’d knelt in front of her mum while the woman brushed her hair. Her mother had loved spreading the strands over her lap and remarking on the color.

So no, Fern didn’t mind how she looked, but she knew that as a match for someone like Cade Hawthorne, she fell woefully short. No wonder he hadn’t enjoyed sex with her. She glumly stared at the list of names on one of the more gossipy articles—women Cade had been linked with in the past. Models, of course, actresses, pop stars—he’d even dated pop icon Laura Prentiss for a short time for goodness’ sake—and socialites. The list was daunting. Redheads, blondes, brunettes, tall, short, slim, curvy, all ethnicities and races—the one thing they all had in common was staggering beauty.

And Fern while passable was no beauty.

She shook her head, annoyed with herself for going down this rabbit hole and closed the internet browser. For a moment she stared at the numbered red tags on her apps and briefly considered just deleting everything unread. But she knew cowardice wasn’t going to help her. She’d made her decision—she ought to stand by it.

With that thought firmly in her mind, she dragged her thumb across the screen, knowing that time had come to face the music.