: Chapter 10

I stare at my computer in front of me, but my eyes blur, my brain fuzzy. Nothing makes sense. I can read email after email, but it doesn’t stick because all I can think about is the last few nights and how close I was to giving in to the temptation that is my wife.

How easy would it have been to slide my hand under her shirt, to glide her underwear down her legs, and then just fucking feast.

It would have been so simple, and I know she would let me. She would have let me do whatever I wanted, and that’s the problem. I have that knowledge in my head—I have the knowledge that she wants me.

She fucking wants me.

And if I didn’t have one ounce of willpower, I would have taken advantage. I wouldn’t have stopped; I would have kept going, taking and taking and taking, until there was nothing left for her to give. And then in the morning, she’d regret it.

Hell, I’d regret it.

I would feel guilty and like I used her, even though I know that’s not the case.

But now, as I attempt to get work done, it’s all I can think about.

And it’s fucking painful.

Knock. Knock.

I look up at the door where Sloane is standing, looking gorgeous with her hair curled and floating over her shoulders. A shade of pink lipstick stains her plump lips, and a thick coat of mascara highlights her very innocent eyes.

This morning, she was nonchalant, charming, cool as a goddamn cucumber, acting as if nothing happened last night. She jabbered on about what fruit she likes best, strawberries and pineapples, and how she thinks they’re the ultimate fruit pairing. I just listened because I really had nothing to say. I did ask Corinne to grab some fresh pineapple and strawberries at the store for me, you know, just to have them on hand.

For no other reason than just to have them.

Not because I want to make my wife happy.

Not because I’m trying to flirt with my wife.

Sloane also chose to wear one of the outfits she brought from home. A black skirt with a white shirt tucked in. She paired the outfit with black high heels, making her legs look impossibly long. And even though I was itching to touch her in the car, I kept my hands to my fucking self. Smart move on my part.

“Can I come in?” she asks, hesitant.

Fuck, look at her. She’s so fucking beautiful.

So innocent.

“Yup.” I lean back in my chair and press my finger to my cheek and my thumb under my chin. “What’s up?”

“Well, first of all, are you sure you don’t want your green drink? I can do the Naked Juice, or I can go to the juice bar and get the gross one.”

“I’m sure,” I answer, trying to keep my eyes off her legs.

“Okay, but if you change your mind, you just let me know. I’m aware how much you enjoyed your green drink. I don’t want you changing your habits because now we’re married.”

“Shhhh,” I say, looking over her shoulder toward the hallway. “Don’t mention that shit here.”

“You don’t want me to mention that we’re married?”

“No. Christ.”

She glances around my office and says, “You do realize that this is the exact place where we tied the knot. If you didn’t want people to know, then why did we perform the ceremony here?”

“Neutral zone, less intimidating, and I was able to do paperwork at the same time.”

“So romantic,” she says, clutching her heart. “I’ll always recall the moment I said I do, with your stapler watching the magical moment. Or the way your computer hummed in the background. A true backdrop of love.”

“You done?” I ask with a lift of my brow.

“Not to mention, the nose kiss. Ahh, I’ll never forget the nose kiss.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” I say, hating that she keeps bringing it up. It’s truly something I wish I could forget about.

“What were you thinking? Were you trying to make a memorable moment? Because I’ll tell you right now, I would remember⁠—”

Movement from behind her catches my eye and just as I see who it is, I sit up straight and call out, “Hey, Jude.”

Sloane’s eyes widen, and I watch her smartly slip her ring-covered hand into the pocket of her skirt. Panic courses through me as I slowly slide my ring off my finger and casually stick it in my pocket as well.

“Hey, Sloane,” Jude says. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Jude is at least a foot taller than his sister, and even though they look alike, they also look very different, if that makes any sense. Where Jude is rough around the edges, with a bit of a bite in his voice despite not meaning it, Sloane is softer, sweeter despite being a constant ball of sarcasm.

“That’s what happens when you marry,” Sloane says. “You don’t make time for your sister.” Jude’s brow knits together, which makes Sloane chuckle. “I’m kidding, relax. It’s okay to have a life with your wife and to have time to yourselves.”

“I’ll talk to Haisley about having you and Stacey over.”

“Might just have to be Stacey,” Sloane says. “I’m going to be very busy with work. Very, very busy.” I study her, watching for any tell that she’s nervous, that she’s holding something back.

She shifts on her feet.

She fidgets with her hair.

She avoids eye contact.

Fuck, I hope Jude doesn’t notice.

Jude glances in my direction and then back to his sister. “Do you have new responsibilities?”

“Uh, yes. I mean no…I mean…I have taken on a new role.”

Jesus Christ.

“What kind of new role?”

“A personal one,” she says, her eyes cutting to me briefly.

Fuck, don’t look over here!

I can practically feel the sweat drip down my back while I hang on every word Sloane says, hoping and praying she doesn’t slip up and give away the knowledge that we are currently betrothed.

“A personal one?” Jude turns fully toward his sister. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing.” She waves at him. “Absolutely nothing. Well, I mean…not nothing. Of course I’m up to something. But not like a tricky something. Just a regular something. Figuring out life, making changes, nothing you need to worry about at the moment.”

“I don’t like you hiding things from me, Sloane.”

She nervously chuckles. “Now, now, can’t tell a brother everything.” She pats his arm. “Anyway, you have a call with London?”

“Do I?” I ask, confused as to where that came from.

“Not sure. Let me go check.” She turns on her heels and heads out of my office, leaving me in a pool of sweat. Aw, it was her escape route.

“London? Would that be Archie?” Jude asks, still sporting a scowl.

“Yes,” I answer, my voice surprisingly steady. “Trying to secure the deal.”

“Smart.” If only he knew what exactly was going into it to seal the deal, he wouldn’t think it was that smart. “Well, I came in to get some blueprints of the building on Seventh. Hardy said they were delivered here.”

Sloane comes back into the room and says, “No call. Silly me.”

Jude’s scowl grows, probably disapproving of her current…flakiness.

“Anywho, anything I can help with?” she asks, looking between us.

“Blueprints,” I answer. “Jude is looking for blueprints for the building on Seventh.”

“They must be up front because we don’t have anything back here,” Sloane says. “Unless you have them?” she asks me.

I shake my head. “Nope, don’t have them.”

Jude’s eyes flit between the both of us, and I can’t tell if he’s just listening intently or trying to connect the dots. Either way, I feel like there is a giant billboard over my head, pointing at me and saying, I married your sister and almost slipped my hand under her shirt last night.

Finally, he says, “Okay, I’ll check up front. Hardy made it seem like they were back here.”

The idiot probably sent Jude back here on purpose just to make me sweat. Well, job accomplished because I’m going to need a new shirt after this.

“Hardy doesn’t know what he’s talking about a lot of the time,” I say.

“Okay, well, are we still on for our meeting this week to catch up?” Jude asks.

Fuck, I forgot about that.

There is no way in hell I’m going to be able to sit through an hour-long meeting with Jude, just me and him, without looking like something is bothering me. I’m smooth, but not that fucking smooth.

“Shit, I was actually going to call you about that,” I say, lying through my teeth. “I’m going to have to cancel. There’s a lot I have to prepare for, and I don’t have a lot of time.”

“Not a problem. I didn’t have much of an update. I just wanted to make sure we kept up-to-date on everything. How about I shoot you an email with the few things I wanted to discuss, and you can take a look at it when you get a chance?”

“Yeah, that works. And then we can resume our regular meetings once I, uh, get everything under control.”

“That works,” he says with a nod. He then turns to Sloane and says, “Dinner at my house soon. Got it?”

“Sheesh, a formal invitation would be nicer than a demand.”

“But it’s not an invitation,” he says. “It is a demand.”

“Lovely,” she replies with a playful eye roll. “Always enjoy accommodating my older brother’s demands.”

“Good, because they’re not going to stop.” He moves toward the door. “Good luck with Archie.”

“Will do,” I call out, and then he gives his sister a quick hug and is out the door.

Sloane and I just stare, watching, waiting, not saying a goddamn thing until…

“He’s in the elevator. Coast is clear,” she says and then flops down on the couch in my office. “Mother of God, you made me nervous.”

“I made you nervous?” I ask, pointing to my chest.

“Uh, yeah, because you became all squirrely and scared.”

“I was not squirrely and scared. You were the one rambling on about nothing.”

“Because he can smell a lie on me. I could see it in his eyes.” She shakes her head. “You did not prepare me for this.”

“How could I possibly prepare you? You just needed to act like nothing was going on.”

“Uh, we could have come up with a story.”

“What kind of story?” I ask.

She shrugs. “A why am I so nervous around my brother story.”

“Jesus,” I say while rubbing my brow.

“This is why we need to talk more.” She motions between the two of us. “We need to have better communication.” She pats the couch. “Let’s chat.”

I scoot my chair into my desk. “We have work to do, Sloane.”

“You don’t consider our marriage work?”

“No,” I answer, causing her to groan in frustration.

“You know, I have a check in my bank account that begs to differ.”

“Get back to your desk, Sloane.” I take my ring out of my pocket and slip it back on my finger. I can feel her eyes on me, but I keep my gaze fixed on the screen in front of me. I’m not going to get into it with her here. Not when anyone can drop in and listen.

After a few seconds of silence, she rises from the couch and heads out of my office, shutting the door behind her. When the coast is clear, I lean back in my chair and let out a deep breath.

Fuck, what the hell did I get myself into?

“Sloane,” I call out. “What is this noon meeting I have on the calendar?”

Silence.

I lean forward, attempting to look out my door.

“Sloane?”

There’s some rummaging of bags and then she appears at my door, holding carryout in one hand and drinks in the other.

“The noon meeting is with me.” She brings the food into the office and sets it out on the coffee table—two salad bowls, some bread, and iced teas.

“What do you mean it’s with you?” I ask as she walks over to the door, shuts and locks it. Then she heads over to my desk, where she presses the button to frost my windows, giving us more privacy. “Sloane, what—” She takes my hand in hers and pulls me over to the couch where she pushes me down and then takes a seat next to me.

Turning in my direction, she says, “Thought I would have lunch with my husband.”

“This is not a good idea,” I say.

“Why not?”

“Because the door is locked and the windows are frosted and you are in here. People are going to think that we’re…doing something.”

“Please, no one is going to think that. I think everyone in the office believes you’re celibate.”

“Really?” I ask, my brow knitting.

“I honestly have no idea. I don’t really talk to anyone.”

“Then why say that?”

“You make me nervous. I just say things.”

“Not a good quality to have.” I grab my salad and start to move off the couch. “I can eat at my desk and work.”

“Wait, hold on,” she says in protest. “Have lunch with me, Hudson. Get to know me. We can play twenty questions, or…or we can talk about goals. I really don’t have any at the moment, trying to figure them out actually, but maybe you can help me⁠—”

“We’re not doing this, Sloane.” I stand and take my salad over to my desk, leaving her to sit alone on the couch, and a part of me feels bad, ditching her, but I also…I don’t want to know things about her. I don’t want to be sitting that close to her. I don’t want to be the one that becomes fucking attached.

I’m not worried about her.

I’m worried about me.

I’ve never had someone look at me the way that she does.

Nor have I ever had someone as persistent in wanting to know me like she does.

She’s different. She wears an air of innocence that’s addictive. And I know that if I open up to her, if I let her see a piece of me no one else has seen besides my siblings, I’ll open myself to getting hurt.

And I can’t get hurt.

Not by her.

There are too many connections between us.

She lets out a heavy sigh and says, “Why am I even wearing this?” I look up just in time to watch her pull her ring off and set it on the coffee table. My eyes narrow in on the diamond.

“Put that back on.”

“Hudson, this is stupid.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “This whole thing is stupid. You act like you want this to be real, but then you won’t even spend time with me.”

I stand from my desk and walk up to her. I bend over, pick up her ring, and then pull her up from the couch. Looking her dead in the eyes, I say, “You’re wearing your ring.”

“But what if⁠—”

“You’re wearing it,” I repeat, my body now thrumming with the need to claim her. “You’re my wife, and you will wear the ring I put on your finger.”

Her expression falls. “You realize how possessive that sounds, right?”

But it’s as if I want her to take this seriously and I fear that she won’t unless pressed.

“You realize that you made a commitment to me and these rings will be worn.”

“Oh my God, Hudson, it’s not—” She blows out a frustrated breath. “You know what? You’re right, I made a commitment to you, therefore I will honor said commitment. Thank you for the reminder.” She gathers her food, and without another look back, she storms out.

And for some reason, that doesn’t settle well with me because I can see something brewing behind those eyes. Something brewing that I know will come back to bite me in the ass. The only question is, when exactly is that going to happen?

I place the key to my car on the side table next to the garage stairs, and that’s when I smell something.

Something…cooking.

Sloane left early from work today, claiming she needed to run some errands and because she seemed to be testy after she left at lunch, I thought that maybe it would be good to let her get some air and time away from me.

I had no clue what kind of errands she had to run, but I didn’t care. I enjoyed the reprieve from her. Instead of constantly peeking out my office window to catch a look at her, I was able to get some work done. Answered a ton of emails, went over a few spreadsheets, and even looked over some résumés that Jude sent my way for another construction manager that the Canes approved of as well.

And now that I’m home, I’m reminded of exactly why I was able to get all of that work done.

I turn the corner into the kitchen, where I see two pots on the stove, flames beneath them, a chopped salad on the counter, and what seems to be garlic bread ready to be put in the oven.

Confused, I glance around the room, and when I don’t see anyone, I start to worry that Sloane might have begun cooking but got distracted and pulled away. I wouldn’t put it past her.

Clearing my throat, I say, “Sloane?”

“Is that my sugar dumpling?” a voice calls out from the pantry. And then all of a sudden, her head pops out and a large smile spreads across her face. “Daddy’s home!”

Daddy?

Uh…no.

She steps out of the pantry wearing a frilly white-and-pink apron…and a pair of heels. That’s it, nothing else.

I can feel all the blood drain from my body and pool in one certain area as she walks toward me, her tits barely contained by the top of the apron, copious amounts of side boob peeking out. Her hair is down, curled, and she’s wearing bright red lipstick as she walks up to me and places her hand on my chest.

Instinctively, my hand falls to her hip, where I feel the waistband of her thong.

Her hands grip my face, and she stands on her toes and lightly presses a kiss to my nose.

The fucking nose.

When she releases me, she says, “I’m so glad you’re home. Dinner is almost ready.”

Then she turns away from me and goes to the oven, where she turns off the burners and lifts the lids off the pots.

My eyes travel up and down her body, taking in her sexy curves, the thickness of her thighs, her perfectly round ass. Her tits spilling out of the apron. Christ…

I clear my throat and attempt to take my eyes off her, but I can’t. Not when she’s…hell, not when she’s dressed like that. It’s every kitchen fantasy come true, and she knows it, because she’s strutting around, bending over, showing off her ass.

“Sloane,” I say, my voice coming out rough.

“Yes, darling?” she asks as she wipes her cheek with the back of her hand.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“My wifely duties of course,” she says as she moves around the counter, coming right up to me. She pats me on the chest and says, “That’s what you want, right? A wife?”

Yup, I knew something was brewing when she left my office earlier. It was clear as day—I just didn’t know she was going to go this far.

“Which reminds me, you didn’t say if you liked my outfit.”

She turns me to face her and then conducts a small spin, showing off her apron.

“Normally, when a husband comes home and finds his wife in an apron, cooking dinner, he slides in behind her, caresses her bare ass, and then spins her around to lift her up onto the counter to take advantage of the lack of clothing. Imagine my disappointment when my husband doesn’t even compliment me on my outfit.”

“This is not what I’m talking about when I claim you as my wife,” I say.

“But this is what a wife does,” she says, stepping in close. “They like to please their man, and what’s one way to a man’s heart?” When I don’t answer, she says, “Foods and nudes.”

“We don’t do nudes.”

“And why not?”

“You know why not. We can’t cross that line, Sloane.”

“Mm, shame,” she says as she turns around and my eyes go directly to her ass again. It’s impossible for me to look away, especially when she saunters like that. “Can you set the table please?”

“Can you put some clothes on please?” I ask, just as she whips a T-shirt off the counter, turns away from me, and undoes the apron. She fits my large T-shirt over her body and then turns toward me when it’s firmly in place.

“Happy?”

No.

I don’t answer her. Instead, I gather plates and silverware and then grab us both waters and set the table. Once everything’s in place, I help her bring the food over, while she monitors the garlic bread in the oven.

Unsure of what else to do, I connect my phone to the Bluetooth speaker and play some subtle music so it’s not completely quiet in the house. I can’t imagine the conversation is going to be flowing tonight.

She removes the garlic bread from the oven and then slices it up, putting it in a bowl. She sets the bowl down and gestures to my seat.

“Go ahead, sit down.”

“I can serve⁠—”

“I got it,” she says, moving my chair away from the table now so I can sit.

Unsure what she has up her sleeve, I timidly take a seat and then scoot my chair forward, but she stops me midway and sits down on my lap.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Serving you some dinner,” she answers as she starts dishing some noodles on my plate, followed by some sauce.

“Do you have to do that on my lap?”

“You can hold my thigh in the car, so I can sit on your lap at the dining room table. After all, just getting comfortable with each other, right? We’re a married couple, Hudson, we need to act like one.”

And yup, my words are coming back to bite me in the ass.

Seeing that she’s in the mood to prove something to me, I decide to go with it and allow her to sit on my lap.

She sprinkles Parmesan cheese onto my noodles and sauce, adds some salad on the side, and then loads up the plate with some pieces of bread.

I stare down at the plate, taking in the mound of food. “I don’t eat that much.”

She turns on my lap so her legs are between mine and she’s sitting on one of my thighs. She wraps one arm around my shoulder, picks up the fork, and loads on some noodles. “This is for both of us.”

“So you’re going to sit here the entire dinner?”

“Yes,” she answers. “The guy who gave me the best sex of my life used to let me sit on his lap like this when we ate cereal, although he never asked me to put a shirt on like you did.”

She brings the fork up to my mouth and I part my lips despite her bringing up that fucker again. I know I shouldn’t be jealous, and I know that she’s probably talking about him on purpose to make me crazy and, Christ, is it working.

“Would you rather be naked right now?” I ask her.

“You know how I feel about foods and nudes,” she says with a wiggle of her brows before she sets the fork in her mouth and slowly pulls off the noodles. After she chews and swallows, she asks, “Do you think we’ll ever see each other naked?”

I nearly choke on the water I’m swallowing. I set the glass down and dab my mouth with my napkin. “What kind of question is that?”

“An honest one,” she says. “It’s obvious that you find me attractive. You know I find you attractive, and we’re married, so it’s inevitable, right? Like what if I just happened to walk in on you while you were showering?”

“You’d see me showering,” I simply say.

“So you wouldn’t care?”

“What are you trying to get at, Sloane?”

Frustrated, she blows out a breath and says, “You’re all about treating this as a real marriage. But you won’t talk to me about who you are as a person. Therefore, we can go to option two, and that’s the other thing married couples do. They fuck. So don’t you want to fuck? Don’t you want to get rid of this tension? It’s…it’s getting in the way, and I feel like if we just fucked, then it wouldn’t be a big deal. We could be the married couple we’re supposed to be and then we can go on our merry ways when it’s all over.”

“No, Sloane.”

“Why not?” she asks as she pushes the food away and takes a seat on the table in front of me to really get a good look.

“Because it would complicate things.”

“Things are already complicated,” she says. “They became complicated the moment we got married.”

“This will make it that much more complicated.”

She folds her arms at her chest. “Then how the hell am I supposed to treat you as my husband if you won’t open up to me and you won’t fuck me? This is like being in jail. You want to take this seriously, but you’re making it impossible to do that.”

She has a very valid point, one that I have no counterpoint to. All I have is, I don’t want to open up to her because I don’t open up to anyone but my brother and sister. I don’t want her knowing the shitty side of my life because, in the grand scheme of things, it’s going to come off as the whiny rich boy who didn’t get the parental attention he wanted.

And fucking her? That’s completely off the table. I know the minute I give an inch, I’m going to take a fucking mile from her.

“You realize you’re not being a hero by denying me, right?” she continues. “Like, I don’t think that you’re some white knight, swooping in and saving my vagina from complication.”

“That’s not what I think.”

“Then what is it?” she asks, exasperated. “Is it Jude?”

“Yes, it’s Jude,” I say as I place my hands on her bare thighs. “I married you. That’s bad enough as it is, but if he knew I fucked you? Christ, Sloane, it could kill the business. Okay? It could hurt everything my brother and I have put together. It could hurt the relationship with Cane Enterprises. It could hurt Maggie and Brody, tarnish my relationship with Hardy. There is so much at stake, and I can’t be the selfish one here and think with my dick. I have to be smart.”

I watch as she processes what I said, her mind working overtime.

And to reassure her, I say, “If I had it my way, my actions would be different.” That’s when her eyes find mine, hope in her gaze, so I add, “But it’s not up to me. My dad spent his life being selfish, and I refuse to be the same person.”

She slowly nods and then exhales. “I can see where you’re coming from. I don’t agree with it because I’m a big girl, and I can make my own decisions. I don’t base my life around what my brother will think and how he will react. But sure, if that’s the way you want to handle this, then so be it.”

She hops off the table and goes to her side, where she picks up my plate and dumps half of the food onto her plate. When she starts digging in, I attempt to read her body, which is giving pissed-off vibes.

Just great.

“Sloane,” I say while I pick up my fork.

“Hmm?” she asks, her mouth full of pasta.

“Don’t be mad.”

She chews, swallows, and then says, “I’m not mad.”

“I can tell you’re mad.”

“How? You haven’t given me the time of day to get to know me.”

I work my jaw back and forth, not appreciating the slight jab. “The tone in your voice, your body language, your response to what I said—that’s how I can tell you’re mad,” I say, naming a few.

“Well, you know, Hudson, maybe I am mad.” She sets her fork down. “I’m irritated with the situation. You’re giving mixed signals. One moment you’re keeping me at arm’s length, the next you’re pressing your hand to my upper thigh while we drive around. What the hell am I supposed to do with that? You want to be married, but you don’t want to be married. It’s confusing.”

Because it is fucking confusing. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place here. I can’t give in and take what I want from her at the risk of hurting her, because Jude would kill me. But I also can’t just use her; I need to treat her with care, with affection and respect. It’s a fine line I’m trying to walk, and apparently, I’m doing a real shit job.

“I’m not trying to give you mixed signals, Sloane. I’m trying to be honest,” I say, imploring her to understand. “As I said, this isn’t a simple case of whether or not I’m attracted to you. This is about my business. The people who count on me⁠—”

“You say that, but I don’t really believe that’s what’s going on here. I think you’re afraid that I’ll get attached. That if we ‘complicate’ this situation with sex or with getting to know each other, you’re afraid you’re going to break the young girl’s heart. Trust me, I can handle my feelings. I don’t need anyone looking out for me.”

“I know you can look out for yourself,” I say.

Annoyed, she pushes away from the table and picks up her plate. “If you truly thought that, then you would have no problem spreading me across this table and having me for dinner or sitting on that couch and telling me all about your childhood,” she says. “Because you’d know that I could handle whatever I got myself into. Instead, you’re protecting me⁠—”

“I’m protecting me,” I say, pointing to my chest. “I’m protecting myself from…from being the one that gets attached. You’re different, Sloane. I’m aware how different you are, and if I allow myself to explore just how different, then I know I’m going to be crossing a line I shouldn’t be crossing. I’m protecting the people around me by keeping my distance.”

“You’re not keeping your distance by sleeping in the same bed, holding my hand, running your thumb over my wrist.”

“Because you deserve affection,” I say before I can stop myself. “Because you deserve the kind of care that comes with being a wife. This has nothing to do with attachment on your end.”

She shakes her head. “No, because if you truly believed that, then you wouldn’t think twice about everyone else because you’d know that whatever we did wouldn’t cause me to fall apart in the end. But the trust isn’t there, which is fine, because why would it be? You don’t know me. As your assistant, you haven’t taken the chance to get to know me, and now that I’m your wife, the pattern continues. I thought we could have some fun, get to know one another on a deeper level, but I get it. I understand the assignment.”

Plate in hand, she heads toward the balcony when I stand and stop her, my hand to her stomach. “Sloane, I trust you.”

Her eyes connect with mine, and she smiles sadly. “You don’t.”

And then she moves out from under my touch and toward the balcony, where she eats dinner alone.