Page 17 of Her Wicked Husband (The Huxleys #2)

Bryce

Hot water sluices down my suds-covered body, washing away every hint of Fiona on me. Her scent disappears, replaced by the mint and sandalwood of the soap. Foam swirls down the drain—like what happened to our college relationship, when I was more innocent and na?ve.

When I believed she might be the one.

I thought if I sated my sexual frustration and erased every trace of her from my skin, I’d feel liberated. No more thinking of her. No more getting erect at inopportune times. Instead, all I can do is remember how amazing it felt to be back inside her.

Damn it . I shove my wet hair out of my face in frustration and cut off the shower.

Sex with Fiona hasn’t done a thing to quell the annoying restlessness that’s been plaguing me.

No, that’s not quite right. The satisfaction was there when she came around my cock twice, and I lost my mind with pleasure.

I hate to admit it, but I’ve never felt as good with any other woman.

But then she had to ruin it by acting like kissing on the mouth was equivalent to rape, then looking at me like I’d smashed her heart.

Brazen. Shameless…!

She ’s the one who betrayed me and trampled all over my dignity, pride and feelings. Did she honestly believe I ruined her wedding with Jude just to be able to return to playing her lap dog?

My biggest mistake back then was letting her soften me into being the kind of boyfriend the world considers “good.” Well, the time of my being that kind of idiot is over. Forever.

The problem is my dick. It’s incredible how a penis can have its own logic and stubbornness that have nothing to do with my brain’s decree.

I shake my head. I honestly thought I was beyond such nonsense.

Still. It was bitterly satisfying to watch her struggle to maintain her superior attitude. She tried to pin me to a number, then spread her legs and touched herself to provoke me.

Did she expect tenderness or something else more meaningful out of sex? Before, we had sweetness, laughter, joy and trust—at least, I did. Now, I won’t spare her any. She said I didn’t deserve to kiss her. It’s she who doesn’t deserve anything.

I put on a shirt and shorts then walk out of the bedroom and head downstairs.

I pause when I see Fiona standing in front of the coffee table.

She’s covered herself with the wedding dress.

Guess she wasn’t brazen enough to stay in just the garter belt and stockings.

Or maybe she’s realized they won’t get her what she wants.

When she took off the dress and showed what was underneath, my blood shot to the boiling point instantly.

A toxic combination of bitterness and victory sizzled in my veins as I took her in.

Her softly rounded breasts rose and fell, their tips rosy and pointed, begging to be sucked.

Her waist was still nicely taut, her hips flared just enough to fill my palms if I wanted to grip them as I screwed her brains out.

The sight of her hairless pussy was more erotic than any porn.

I’d never seen her waxed there before, and I loved it that nothing was hidden from my view.

The silken stockings encased her long, shapely legs, their snowy color giving her an air of innocence despite her state of wanton undress.

She wore those for Jude—for their wedding night. But it was me who got to enjoy the view, not him. The realization is still gratifying. Bet he’s still fuming—maybe in his wedding bed, alone .

She’s staring at the floor as though studying the pattern in the marble. But I was in the bathroom for half an hour or so. There’s no way she just stood there all this time, doing nothing .

“You can go,” I say, my tone more curt than I intend. But it’s best I don’t give her any sort of opening.

She starts. “I don’t have a ride.”

“I’ll call you an Uber—”

“Actually, I don’t have anywhere to go.”

I fold my arms and squint at her. “What happened to your place?”

She licks her lips, shifting a bit. “I didn’t get a rental. I’ve been staying at the family estate, but it’s…not a good idea for me to go there right now.”

“Like I care?” If the mansion’s about to be foreclosed, that’s her problem, not mine.

“Jude and Aaron are likely to be there.”

That shuts me up. Those two don’t deserve to give her a hard time. If anybody’s going to make her suffer, it’s gonna be me.

And although she didn’t mention it, her mother is probably going to be at the Obermans’ mansion. After all, where can a widow without any job skills go? She might blame Fiona for not marrying Jude and jeopardizing the two million dollars.

But I don’t want Fiona in my house. It’s my sanctuary.

As a matter of fact, I regret bringing her here.

I never bring women here, preferring to go to their place or to a hotel nearby.

I should’ve done the same with her, but I wasn’t thinking clearly as I drove away from the wedding.

I was riding too high on triumph and elation.

“How about a friend?” I say.

She looks away with an awkward shrug. “Don’t have any.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you telling me you never made any friends all these years?”

“Not anyone close enough for me to crash with in L.A.”

Again, hard to believe. Don’t girls have sleepovers with friends all the time?

Even I had one or two with some boys, although my dad and stepmom were paranoid about my and my brothers’ safety.

As far as I know, Fiona doesn’t have a sociopathic mom trying to kidnap her and leave her to die in a fire.

“Are you proposing that you stay here? You’re that eager to pay off your debt to me? ”

She flushes. “I don’t break my word.”

I snort. “That remains to be seen.” Cheaters cheat because they fundamentally don’t value their word or the trust people place in them. That sort of attitude doesn’t change just because they’re dealing with somebody who isn’t a significant other.

I pour myself whiskey. This time I don’t offer her any. In my peripheral vision, I sense her shift again.

“What’s wrong? Need to use the bathroom?”

She shakes her head. “No. I… My legs are stiff.”

“Then sit. There aren’t any land mines in the cushions.”

“I didn’t think there were, but back in your office you were upset when I tried to sit without an invitation.

” She sinks into the smallest of the couches and arranges herself.

The poufed skirt makes her look like an innocent fairy in my living room, her hair tumbling over a slender shoulder and her cheeks slightly rosy.

Her mouth is soft, her lips full and vulnerable, the kind that beg for a kiss that starts out gently but morphs into something hard and intense.

Heat starts in my belly and spreads through me, all the way to my fingertips and toes. I hate it that I notice how pretty and kissable she is.

Back at the office, huh? If she’s fishing for an apology, forget it . I pull out my phone with a nonchalance I don’t feel, my body propped against the bar. “I gave your information to my banker. He’ll reach out tomorrow and arrange for a wire for two million.”

“Um. I don’t know if they’re the kind of people you can just wire money to.”

I tilt my head. “What does that mean?”

“They’re loan sharks. I don’t know if they bank like normal people.” She clears her throat.

What in the world…? “Are you crazy?” My hand tightens around my phone. It’s that or shake her until she develops some common sense. “You borrowed money from loan sharks?”

“Not me. Aaron,” she says defensively.

My jaw drops. “What the hell? You’re paying off Aaron’s debt? ”

She nods.

I stare, trying to understand. The entire conversation has taken on a surreal tone.

“Why? He’s a big boy. Let him handle it.

” Somewhere in my head, a voice says, If she doesn’t have to take care of the two million, you won’t have any leverage over her .

But I don’t care. It’s stupid of her to take on that kind of debt when she doesn’t need to. Didn’t anybody advise her?

“I wanted to, but they came after me and Sherry. I couldn’t let them hurt us.”

“But loan sharks?” I shake my head.

Fiona lets out a hollow laugh. “I had the same reaction. But what can I do? They can have Aaron and do whatever they want to him, but I owe Sherry everything. I can’t let her suffer.”

I’ve seen Zachary’s wife a few times at social functions.

Pretty, but a bit fragile. Pleasant enough, and well mannered.

But I can’t picture her doing anything that’d inspire such devotion from Fiona.

Sherry’s always lost in some Buddhist scripture or mantra.

Won’t touch meat or alcohol, saying taking a life is bad.

Apparently, plants don’t qualify as “lives.”

Fiona continues, “I don’t know exactly how to make the payment, but I’m sure they’ll be in touch soon. They text every day. And I’d prefer to not involve Aaron, since he might try to take the money and run. He has a gambling problem. Did you know that?”

“No, but I’m not surprised.” Aaron was at Harvard as well, two years ahead of us.

He was a piece of shit back then, and the rumor was that, in addition to the usual drinking, he indulged in drugs, hookers and every other vice known to man.

Nobody made a big deal about it, especially not the administration.

The Obermans donated a large sum of money each year, and the amount jumped while Aaron and Fiona were attending.

“Anyway, I can arrange for the money to be paid however you want, although I don’t encourage cash. Too dangerous.”

“I know. I’m not going to be that reckless.”

“Really? Because you’ve been reckless ever since you reentered my life.

” Fiona was reckless when she barged into my office…

when she decided to marry Jude…when she sent me those photos.

And now she’s trying to pay off money her brother owes to some loan sharks.

Concern clouds my better judgment, and I sit next to her—then immediately realize it was a mistake.