“I want him gone. One of you go with him to collect any belongings he has here and then escort him off the premises.”
“What? You can’t do that! It was an honest mistake. You didn’t tell us you were married!” Russ shouts at me indignantly.
“And you could have confirmed that for yourself by calling me, or even Sam,” I point out, my voice lethal.
“I asked her to call you, but she didn’t know your number or even where you worked!” he counters, incensed.
Inwardly I wince, knowing he’s right, but that shouldn’t have stopped him from calling. My numbers are on file for emergencies.
“And as much as it pisses me off, I would have happily conceded that I’m a fucking terrible husband. You could have called, but you didn’t. I can even understand that, but the fact that you’re a prejudiced prick is not something I’m willing to overlook.”
“How dare you,” he snaps, affronted.
“I dare because if I’m right in my assumption, you took one look at her tattoos and hair and made up your mind about what kind of person she is.”
“I did no such thing—”
“You did,” a soft voice says, making the security guards and me spin around.
We all stand frozen for a moment. My brain quickly catalogs the way she’s wrapping her arms tightly around herself in a protective stance. The way her hair and clothes are saturated and plastered to her skin and finally the split lip and what looks like the beginning of a black eye.
“What the fuck?” I’m across the room and ready to catch her as she sways on her feet.
“I…I got mugged,” she whispers, her chattering teeth making it difficult to understand.
“Fuck, you’re freezing.” I swing her up into my arms and hiss as the cold seeps through my shirt.
“I’m taking her upstairs. Get him out of here.” I ignore anything else they may say, my only concern for the woman shaking in my arms.
“I’m all right, Asher, just cold,” she mumbles, burrowing closer into my chest as I take us up to the apartment as quickly as I can.
“I know. I’ll get you warmed up. Just hold on to me, okay?” I urge, knowing the first thing I need to do is get her in the shower.
I carry her straight through to the bathroom and gently lower her onto the toilet seat before turning on the water, letting it heat as I carefully pull her to her feet.
“I need to get you out of these clothes and into the shower. I swear I’ll be the perfect gentleman,” I promise, making her snort as I peel the wet jacket from her arms and toss it in the sink behind her.
“You’ve…seen me naked before. I’m pretty sure you w-were underwhelmed,” she stutters drolly, lifting her arms as I pull her sweater and tank top over her head in one go.
I drink in the vision of the goddess standing before me in all her colorful glory, my dick rock hard at the sight of all her exposed skin.
“Your body has the number one spot on my spank bank reel. There is nothing unforgettable about you. I was an idiot who couldn’t handle his drink—that's on me and not a reflection on you. It took a while for my faculties to return to me.”
“Why didn’t you try to find me when you first remembered we were married?” she quietly asks, her teeth chattering as I bend and pull her pants down her legs. I keep my eyes on hers to stop myself from leaning forward and swiping my tongue over the cotton-covered mound of her pussy.
I suck in a sharp breath as I process her words, realizing I’ve fucked up again. She thinks I regained my missing memories of her a year ago when the alcohol left my system. I might remember fleeting parts, like her ink and how tight her pussy is, but anything beyond that is still a blur.
Even when Baxter tracked down a photo of her for me, I didn’t recognize her. Although, in my defense, the wild hair colors are new. With everything so up in the air, I can’t tell her I only really remembered her pussy and had no clue about the marriage until Baxter told me.
Then I’d have to tell her the real reason for tracking her down.
Kneeling here now, looking up into her eyes and seeing the vulnerability she usually keeps so well hidden, I decide to withhold the truth for now. Nothing good will come from hurting her unnecessarily. No good can come from telling her the truth now, besides, what I wanted then and what I want now are not the same.
Before, all I cared about was Peterson's resort.
Now I find myself caring about a woman who threatens to bring this house of cards I’ve built crashing down around me.
And I have no one to blame but myself.
Sixteen
Linda
“I’m an idiot. Marriage was never on the radar for me. I’ve seen it go wrong time and time again, so what was the point?” he admits.
Seeing him on his knees with his hands on my hips is making it difficult to focus on his words as the heat of his fingertips seeps into my cold skin.
“And now you want to welcome me into your life when you know nothing about me?” I ask, still confused about why he wants this as much as he says he does. Even more confusing is that I want it too.
“That’s what the three months are about. We get to learn all about each other, a crash course in marriage if you like, but I would just like to point out that I like what I know so far.”
Lord, this man makes it hard to keep myself guarded around him.
Pulling off his shoes and socks, he stands and scoops me into his arms before stepping into the shower, fully clothed. He holds me tightly as the warm water cascades over us. The heated water against my cold skin feels like a dozen tiny pins stabbing me.
I whimper and turn into him, burying my face in the crook of his neck, forgetting everything for a moment as the water finally begins to thaw me. He doesn’t put me down, just grips me tight as we stand in silence under the unrelenting spray until I feel a hundred times better than before.
“You can put me down now, I’m good, I promise,” I tell him with my lips against his ear, smiling when I feel him shiver.
It looks like I’m not the only one affected by our close proximity.
“What if I don’t want to?” his sexy voice rumbles in my ear.
“Well, it will make washing my hair really tricky,” I point out, as he sighs.
He slides me down his body, making me very aware of the fact I’m only wearing a soaking wet bra and panties. There is no mistaking the effect my scantily clad body is having on his.
I watch on shaky legs as he loosens his tie, pulling it free and tossing it in the corner. Next, he opens the cuffs of his shirt, followed by buttons running down the front of it. Pulling it away from his skin, he exposes his smooth tan chest, a nicely defined six-pack, and a little trail of hair that disappears into the waistband of his pants.
“You okay, Skittle?” he asks with an amused smirk on his face.
“Skittle?” I question, trying to focus on anything other than the half-naked man in front of me.
And now he’s taking off his pants.
My nipples pebble, and it has nothing to do with the cold.
“Your skin and hair are a kaleidoscope of colors. Skittle seems like the perfect nickname,” he says with a smile, now standing in nothing more than a black pair of Calvin Klein boxers.