I spread my hands. “And here we are. I can see why you got annoyed with Aldrik and Enrico.”
She grunted. “They’re not so bad. Just average assholes.”
“I’ll keep them in check.”
“You don’t have to protect me.”
I leaned toward her, eyes narrowed. “I know I don’t have to do a goddamn thing, but I want to.”
She watched me like an owl on a barn roof. I met that gaze and held it, and wanted her to know how I felt, what I was thinking—wanted her to taste my hunger for her.
“Why’d you come out of the car yesterday?”
“You were frozen. You were suffering.”
“You didn’t have to help me.”
“You’re my goddamn wife, Cora, of course I’m going to help you.”
She looked confused at that. “We’re not really married. I mean, this— it’s not real.”
I stood up. I felt my anger bubble to the surface. I walked over to her and reached down, grabbing her wrist, and she must’ve been too surprised to stop me. I pulled her to her feet and yanked her against me, turning her, and pushed her back against the counter, pinning her there. I felt her heat then felt her struggle, though weakly, like she wasn’t really trying to get me away.
I kept my face inches from her. “I think you fundamentally misunderstand the kind of man I am.”
“Yeah? How’s that?”
“You think I do shit like this for—I don’t know, for money, or influence, or power, and in some ways that true. But I’m here for you, Cora.”
“You didn’t even know me before we got married.”
I leaned closer and let my lips brush against her cheek as I whispered in her ear. “That’s right, I didn’t. But I do now, and I’m staying because I want this.”
I held her there and she froze in my arms. I think she was considering her next move—whether to fight me off or to accept this, whatever this is, our marriage or our physical attraction or whatever was simmering between our bodies. I pulled back and stared into her eyes then decided to give the game away, decided to be done playing entirely—and kissed her.
Her lips were soft and supple and tasted like cherries and tea leaves. She kissed me back, tentative at first, then threw herself into it. I pulled her tighter, felt her breasts against my chest, cupped her ass with both my hands then ran my fingers along her back. She let out a soft gasp, a gentle moan, and goddamn, I wanted more, so much more, her body, her tongue, her hard, pink nipples, the long lines of her legs, everything, all of her in my bed, sweating and more.
She put her hands on my chest and pushed me back. I let her move me, even though it was the last thing I wanted. She stared at me, breathing hard, mouth hanging open.
“Don’t,” she said, and that was enough to break the spell.
I cocked my head. “You sure?”
“No. But don’t anyway.”
I lingered there for another earth-shaking second then turned and left the room.
I knew if I stayed, I wouldn’t behave myself. I couldn’t behave myself, not after that kiss, not after knowing she wanted it as bad as I did and yet still seemed like she couldn’t give me the benefit of the doubt. I wasn’t her father, I wasn’t the men she grew up with—I wasn’t those bastards that made fun of her, hurt her, made her into the cynical, angry, jaded girl she was today.
But she’d have to see that for herself. Sooner or later, she’d have to understand, and I couldn’t rush it, couldn’t force it, no matter how impatient I felt.
12
Cora
Two days after my panic attack, Reid came home early with a stack of dress bags slung over one shoulder. I stared up at him from the couch and my mouth fell open as he dropped them onto the cushions beside me with a grunt.
We stared at the pile and I did a quick count—at least five bags, but probably more given the tangle of hangers.
“I couldn’t decide,” he said and looked at me. “Guess you get to play dress-up for me.”
I snorted and stood. “Yeah, right.”
“What, I went to all this trouble and I don’t at least get a fashion montage?”
“You’ll end up stripping me out of the first slightly revealing dress, and I have a feeling we don’t have time for that.”
He made a pained face. “I hate when you’re right.”
“What’s the thing tonight? Fancy dinner? Ballroom dancing?”
“Private event.” He drifted toward the kitchen and leaned against a chair. “At Chief Richards’ house.”
“How’d we swing an invite to that?”
“Hedeon made it happen. Apparently, he wants me to show you off.”
“Guess I’d better make the right choice then.” I bent over and started laying bags over my arm. “How much did you spend on all this?”
“Used the profits from our last drop-off. Figured you earned it.”
I stared at him and let that settle in. I was holding the ill-begotten gains of helping him run drugs around the city—and it’d only taken him two days to sell that entire bag. I could still remember how heavy it had been, how packed full of whatever it was. The idea that he sold it all already… it didn’t speak well of Philadelphia’s drug habits.
“I’ll get dressed.” I lugged them to the stairs and felt his eyes on me as I went. I tried not to think about his arms around my body, his lips against mine—the gentle way he whispered in my ear, trying to calm me, trying to soothe me. I tried not to let myself think about it, and in doing so, could almost taste his lips again.
I slammed my bedroom door shut and started my fashion montage—alone, in private, for myself.
We arrived at a single-family house out at the fringes of Philadelphia. “Germantown,” Reid said as he slowed down near a private driveway with a gate closed across it. The fence was big and smooth wood—and showed nothing of the house beyond.
“Is this a rich neighborhood?”
“Sort of. Didn’t used to be. But it’s technically still Philadelphia County, so all the cops and the rich politicians that gotta keep a Philly address move out here. You know, where it’s safer.”
I made a face as he leaned out of the car and hit a buzzer. A muffled voice asked for his name. “Reid and Cora,” he said.
A second later, the gate rolled away, revealing a short drive up to a Tudor-style home that looked like it’d been renovated in the last few years. Cars were parked along the large, circular driveway—Lexus, BMW, Mercedes, Tesla, every luxury brand imaginable—and several attendants in white jackets waved us down. We got out and Reid tossed the keys to a valet.
He took my arm and led me along the path toward the front door. It stood open and revealed a plethora of people standing in the entry hall beneath a large crystal chandelier. The stairwell swept up to the second floor and photographs of a nice family were hung on the wall—I recognized Chief Richards, and what I had to assume were his wife and kids scattered among older relatives, likely mothers and fathers and grandparents.
“I’m glad you chose that one,” he murmured in my ear as he took a glass of champagne from a circulating waiter and handed it to me. “Honestly, that one’s my favorite, but I didn’t think you’d go for it.”