Page 13 of My Pucking Enemy (The Milwaukee Frost #4)

Wren

As far as secrets go, it’s not a very good one.

“That’s it?” I ask, tucking my trembling hands under my arms, staring up at him and hating how fucking handsome he has to look right now.

Of course, the man is impeccably groomed.

And he smells like fresh cotton. And he’s staring down at me like I’m a pop quiz question he knows he remembers the answer to.

“A loveless marriage? You’re a heterosexual man, Luca. Is that supposed to surprise me?”

Maybe it’s stupid, but more than the fact that he had me followed, I’m upset with myself. How in the world did I not catch that I was being watched?

Dad and I used to make a game of pointing out private investigators. Cops. Undercover agents who really thought they were doing something, trying to pull it over on us. We were always one step ahead of them.

I got used to checking my blind spots, always being aware of the other cars on the street. Picking out the unmarked vehicles and the shifting, suspicious eyes every time. We’d laugh with each other when they’d eventually leave, frustrated that we hadn’t done a single incriminating thing.

Laughing with my dad is something I miss from that life, even as I know I’m not supposed to miss a single thing.

Even as I know I’m supposed to ignore his calls without even a twinge of remorse, I just can’t.

This morning, he called me three times from different numbers while I was standing in line, waiting for Luca’s flat white.

My mind flashes back to the coffee shop, and I try to figure out if I was aware of my surroundings, or if I was so caught up in the idea of getting Luca a coffee, of seeing him this morning, that I forgot myself.

An entire childhood dedicated to a certain way of living, and what? Some hockey player hires a half-wit detective from fucking Milwaukee of all places, and suddenly I’m a doe-eyed, oblivious idiot?

I know part of the voice running through my head is my father, taunting me, scaring me with the fact that I might lose my edge. That if this whole “civilian” life thing doesn’t work out, I’ll never be able to fall back on what I know.

And still, even knowing it’s his voice in my head, I can’t stop it from running rampant, adding to the hurt and betrayal flooding my brain.

But betrayal for what? Luca played the game better than me. How can I be frustrated with him for being better, more strategic?

Yet even as I’m thinking that he’s won, the look on his face tells me that he thinks he’s losing.

Luca shakes his head, clearly frustrated, runs a hand impatiently through his hair.

His cheeks are red, his eyes dark, and he looms tall enough over me that he blocks the rising sun from my eyes.

Around us, dead, leafless bushes rustle in the breeze, and when I shiver, he steps close to me, like his radiant heat might be enough to save me from the biting November wind.

“No,” he grits out, looking pained. “That’s not it. Mandy and me, we were never in love. Our marriage was contractual.”

I almost laugh, “Luca, all marriages are contractual, that’s literally—”

“No,” he steps forward earnestly, like I’m still not getting it. When he looks down at me, his eyes dart over my face like he’s looking for any hope there. I try not to show him any.

“Mandy and I met online, when I was just graduating from college. I knew that I was going to want a family, want kids someday, but I didn’t have time for dating. For…romance, and everything that comes with it. So, I looked for a woman who might be interested in a mutually beneficial relationship.”

I blink at him. “An arranged marriage? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes.” He winces when he says it, glances around again, like he’s nervous Callum or his sister might be lurking in the bushes.

“I knew that my career was going to blow up, and I didn’t want to deal with people who might just want to marry me because of that.

I didn’t want a wife who was looking for a hockey player husband.

I just wanted someone dependable, smart, and interested in having kids with me. ”

“…and Mandy was?”

“Yes,” Luca sighs, shaking his head, and there’s something like genuine heartbreak on his face.

Even if he was never in love with her, he was looking forward to building a life with her.

Or building that life, period. “At least, that’s what she said in the beginning.

She said she was okay with having an agreement like that. ”

I bark out a laugh. “And it’s shocking to you that she decided she was actually not okay with a husband who didn’t love her? Living the rest of her life with a partner like a business arrangement?”

He sucks in a breath, then, as though something is occurring to him for the first time, he steps even closer to me, so I have to crane my head back to look at him.

“That’s my secret,” he says, staring me down, and I’m astounded at the way his eyes shape shift between colors. Sometimes cinnamon, sometimes caramel. It all has to do with the light, with the expression on his face. “Please don’t tell Sloane.”

“Tell her what? That you’re getting a divorce, or that you tried to hire a wife?”

He winces again, choking out, “Either.”

Despite it all—despite the fact that he literally had me followed—I can’t help but feel sorry for him. Feel some sense of pity for the guy who just wanted simple and ended up with a divorce instead.

It might be kind of unhinged, but I can relate to that. My entire life has been unhinged.

“So?” he asks, his voice rough, and I realize he’s close enough to me that I can basically feel the vibration of his chest as he speaks. I take a step back.

“So, what?” I ask, fingers working over the edge of the manila envelope still tucked under my arm.

“So…are you quitting?” His face is pained, and I realize that this is about more than my secrets or his, about me filing a complaint against him with HR.

A smile spreads over my lips. “Oh my god!”

He glances around. “What?”

“Luca McKenzie,” I say, and I watch the full weight of his name hit him coming from me. It feels strange on my tongue, like a word in a language I’m only just learning. Something that still feels foreign, but approaching fluency. “You need me.”

“What? No—”

“You don’t want me to quit because you know I’m helping the team,” I counter, the words coming out quick, my eyes darting up to his. “You know you won’t get to the play-offs without me!”

“I didn’t say that—”

“Oh, this is rich!” I pretend to wipe a tear from my eye from the laughter. “I wish I could record it. Wait—will you say it again?”

“Wren.” The serious tone in his voice cuts through my laughing, and I sober up, eyes finding his. It’s unnerving how serious he can be, how his gaze feels like it’s cutting right through me. “Are you going to quit, or not?”

I hesitate, the cold pushing against my face along with his intense stare, making me feel like I’m under a microscope.

The moment he stopped me, chasing after me, not letting me walk away, I’d already known I wasn’t going to quit. Or maybe it was an empty threat to start.

I like this job. I love working with the team. I’m even starting to grow fond of the players.

“No,” I finally say.

His shoulders lower slightly, letting go of just a fraction of that tension they hold. That’s the thing about Luca McKenzie—the guy is wound up tighter than anyone else I’ve ever met, and my father and I were regularly on the run from international police.

Luca wants control. It’s the thing he craves more than anything else—that’s why he’s so intimately involved with the administration of this team. It’s why he hated the idea of me joining, and it’s why he planned out his life—and his marriage—by trying to control all the variables.

My fingers twitch to reach up, run over his shoulders, try to work out some of that tension. For only a second, I let myself think about what it would be like to unravel him, to be the one to take him apart and let all that pent up energy inside him go.

I could give him an outlet. Somewhere to put his need for control.

“Okay,” he says, breaking me out of my thoughts, and I’m glad my cheeks are already red. I’m glad he’s too focused on his relief to notice the look on my face, to read the way that I’m obviously grappling with the thoughts in my head.

“Okay,” I return. “Now, can we go inside? I’m freezing to death.”