Page 55 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

JULIAN

M el sees us coming and throws open the door even before I’ve screeched to a halt in the mud. I’ve already jumped out of the truck and cleared the porch steps before Tye even opens the passenger door.

“She’s upstairs.” Mel pats my shoulder in reassurance. “I checked on her when I removed her breakfast tray and she’s resting comfortably.”

My father lurks nearby and tries to step in front of me. He doesn’t bother to soften the irritation on his face. “I need a word before you see your wife, Julian.”

“Later,” I snap.

His fingers clamp down on my arm. I shake him off and run for the stairs, taking them three at a time. I can hear Tye walk into the house and attempt to smooth things over with our father. Good luck to him.

The bedroom door is open a crack and my heart knocks around in my chest as I push it open the rest of the way. I don’t give a fuck how often I’ve been told that my wife is all right. I won’t believe it until I see her for myself.

There she is, resting in our bed and writing in her journal. Her head jerks up at the sound of the door opening and she gasps.

“Julian! Your father said you couldn’t leave London.”

Fuck him. Instead of snarling a response that will startle her, I cross the room and take a seat on the bed.

This move is not welcomed by Cecilia’s cat, coiled up at her side. Louisa stands and throws me an arch look before springing to the floor and darting out of the room.

Cecilia wears her pink satin robe and sits atop the covers with a throw blanket draped over her legs. Her hairs falls in a single braid over one shoulder and she’s wearing her glasses for a change.

She’s so lovely and soft and vulnerable that I struggle to stay composed.

I reach for her hand. “What happened exactly?”

She scrunches up her nose. “Nothing. Like I said in the text, I’m fine. There was a storm and I tripped in the yard. Hurt my bad knee when I landed on a horseshoe. But it’s no big deal.”

I’m already peeling back the blanket. She squirms and makes a pained little sound that slashes at my heart. With extreme gentleness, I push her robe aside. Her knee is badly bruised and swollen.

“Did you see a doctor yet?” I ask, careful not to disturb her injury.

She shakes her head. “The roads were flooded last night and I’m sure that’s not necessary.”

“You could have torn something in the joint,” I insist and inspect her more carefully. “Fort called and said you were upset.”

She shrugs and tries to smile but she can’t meet my eyes. “I’m not upset anymore. “

“Why didn’t you call me?”

Her fingers toy with her braid and she frowns at her knee. “Because I’m fine and because your father said your business in London was important.”

With a hiss, I leave the bed and double back to shut the door. The house is too full of people and I want to talk to my wife in private.

The ‘business in London’ was an annual global summit of Mafia bosses.

I’d sum it up as a migraine-inducing conference of dyspeptic mobsters with bloated egos.

When I got the call from Fort, I didn’t think twice about bolting.

There’s sure to be some heat over the fact that I left without accomplishing any objectives and have nothing to show for the trip.

Plus, nobody gossips like a gaggle of fucking Mafia bullies. I can just imagine all the petty grumbling when Cass Tempesta’s deputy walked out with no explanation. My father is surely downstairs simmering and seething and waiting to chew me out.

That’s not my concern right now. My only concern is my wife.

My boots are caked with mud and I drop them on the floor before returning to her side.

“Cecilia.” I bring her hand to my lips. “Listen to me. You are important.”

Her light brown eyes swim with tears. She blinks them away and lifts her chin. Sometimes she tries too hard to seize control of her emotions, unwilling to let them get messy. It’s a quality we have in common, one that I’ve admired in her from the day she arrived.

But in here, when it’s just the two of us, there’s nothing she can’t say to me or ask me for. And if she needs to cry, I’ll hold her in my arms and make a battle plan to eviscerate the source of her pain.

“You haven’t shaved,” she says, pointedly changing the subject and running her fingers over my bristled jaw.

“Haven’t showered lately either. It’s been a hell of a long night. Bad weather in London snarled air travel so we had to wait to take off. Then we needed to stop in New York to refuel.”

Her lips part and she leans forward. She’s on the verge of speaking when there’s a staccato rap on the door.

Unreal how I can’t even get a moment’s fucking peace with my wife.

My mood isn’t great when I throw the door open, only to find Getty standing there with a tray of food.

He pushes it at my chest and scowls when I don’t cooperate immediately. “Take it.”

“Did you lose a bet? Since when are you ranch room service?”

Nobody else can roll their eyes with as much scorn as him. “Mel thought you’d be hungry and she was about to carry it upstairs so I decided to save her the trip.”

“Hi, Getty,” Cecilia calls from the bed.

Incredibly, his hostile vibe evaporates and he cranes his neck to see into the room. “How’s the knee?” he asks and holy shit, he actually sounds concerned.

“Still works,” she says. “It just doesn’t look too pretty.”

He nods and then shoves the tray in my direction again. “Here. I’m not gonna spoon feed your ugly ass.”

I snatch the tray from his grip. “Thanks for the delivery. And for the pleasant attitude.”

“Points for consistency,” he mutters and backs up. “Go take care of your wife.”

“I always do,” I reply.

The way his eyes veer to my face as his jaw tightens implies he’s got something to say on the matter. I shut the door before he can share it.

Mel sent up biscotti, bowls of cut fruit and plenty of coffee. Cecilia shakes her head when I offer her some food and she’s amused when I gulp about thirty ounces of coffee inside of a minute.

Unlike Tye, who snored like a pirate as we crossed oceans and continents, I haven’t had a minute of sleep. Now that the panic over reaching my wife has subsided, exhaustion begins to sink in.

Cecilia and I need to have a much more thorough conversation. But until I shower and let the caffeine take effect I’m not good for much.

Fifteen minutes later I return to bed wearing only a pair of briefs. Cecilia leans on a lap desk and continues to write in her journal. It’s the one I gave her. The pen she’s using also came from me. She’s here in my bed, wearing my ring. This is exactly where she belongs.

I’ve never been the possessive type. That track record went out the window the second I touched this girl. She’s mine and she’ll stay mine.

Cecilia uses her pen to keep her place and carefully closes the book to give me her full attention. I slide closer to her, careful not to jostle her knee. My cock doesn’t care that this is supposed to be a tender moment and I’m instantly hard.

She smiles and rubs a hand over my newly shaved jaw. “Hi,” she whispers. Her long lashes flutter when her eyes drop to my mouth.

I take the hint and lean in for the claim. Her lips are parted by my tongue. The lap desk gets pushed aside and her arms tug me closer. She makes a needy sound in her throat that lights a savage fuse inside me and she shoves pillows away before sliding down to her back.

Kissing Cecilia always gets me so riled up that I don’t know how I can stand to ever be away from her. Each time I’m forced to leave her, I hate it a little bit more.

When I’m gone, I struggle to stay focused. My mind constantly strays back to the ranch, back to her.

The knot in her robe belt is undone by my quick fingers. She arches her back, urging me to do more. I need to feel her skin. Taste her pussy. Make her moan. Hear her laugh. I’m fucking obsessed with this girl and the fact doesn’t bother me a bit.

The satin fabric of her nightgown is as soft as butter and slides away with ease.

Every inch of her is exquisite and needs the attention of my mouth.

She runs her fingers through my hair when I kiss my way down.

My tongue skims between her gorgeous breasts and she moans.

But when I playfully nibble at a dusky pink nipple, she flinches.

Instantly stopping, I check to make sure I haven’t leaned on her bad knee by accident. “What is it? What hurts?”

There’s a strange look on her face. Her cheeks remain flushed with arousal but her eyes are wide. She sits up and pulls her robe closed. “Sorry, I’m just a little sore.”

How big of a prick can I be? My wife is injured and I’m trying to maul her within thirty minutes of arriving home. Just lower than low.

“I’ll call Dr. Weatherly in town. He’ll be willing to make a house call.” I’m already grabbing for my phone but she places a hand on my arm.

“Julian, wait.”

“At the very least he can prescribe some pain meds.”

“I’m not sure I can take pain meds.”

“Why, do you feel sick? Is it just your knee that hurts or is it something else?”

She giggles. “My boobs.”

Now I’m confused. Her boobs looked fine. Stunning as ever.

“They’re sore,” she explains with an oddly smug grin. “It’s one of the symptoms.”

I feel like this ought to mean something important but I’m slow to catch on.

Unwilling to wait for all the machinery to click together in my head, Cecilia reaches for my hand and places it on her belly.

“I took two pregnancy tests yesterday and a third one this morning. All positive.” She watches my face with a glimmer of uncertainty. “Are you happy?”

What a question. Impossible to answer in words.

My palm covers her belly, still flat for now. On the outside, I probably look like a thunderstruck clown. Inside, there’s a whirlwind of the deepest, tenderest emotions that have ever rendered a man speechless.

“I’m happy,” I manage to croak out so she doesn’t think the worst of my silence.

I press a kiss to her forehead and collect her in my arms. She sighs against my chest and my fingers gently unravel her braid.

As I stroke my wife’s long hair, she dozes off next to my heart with a sweet smile on her face. But despite my fatigue, I can’t even think about sleep.

When I proposed to Cecilia, I had our lives already planned out. I was sure I knew what kind of a marriage this would be. A harmonious, mutually beneficial arrangement that wouldn’t distract from my obligations.

I couldn’t have been a bigger fool.

And I didn’t know a fucking thing.