Page 14 of Pretend Wife (Angels of the Secret Order #4)

ELEVEN

Hayden

I was an idiot.

Why in the ever-loving fuck had I believed that I could live under the same roof as Danielle for months? All it had taken was one afternoon of staring at her in that dress and I felt like I was two seconds from losing my mind.

I shouldn’t have kissed her during our ceremony, or I at least should have given her a chaste, closed-mouth kiss.

But Danielle had always had the power to make me lose control.

She was like a custom-made drug. One taste always led to two and then three, and before I knew it, I was so hooked I thought I would die if I didn’t get my next hit.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, there was the word that ran through my mind when I pulled back from the kiss and looked into her whisky eyes. Mine.

Again, I was an idiot. Danielle wasn’t mine. This was just a deal, a temporary arrangement she’d only agreed to because she cared about my baby brother.

I stared up at the ceiling above my bed, debating what to do next.

Our wedding hadn’t included dinner, and while Danielle was welcome to anything in my kitchen, I knew she’d probably put up a fight about eating my food.

The girl had no clothes with her and still tried to tell me off for having stocked the closets before she arrived.

Yeah, I’d lied about the closets always being stocked.

They’d been completely empty for the three plus years I’d been living here.

I didn’t buy her a lot. Just enough to ensure that she was taken care of, that she didn’t have to shell out a penny if she didn’t want to.

I could respect her desire to choose what she wore and be responsible for herself, but there was no way in hell I was leaving her without a safety net.

And if I had to lie about where the clothes came from or why they were there, so be it.

It was better that way anyway. We’d both be better off if she believed that I didn’t do it for her.

I was debating the best way to order food for her without her getting mad at me when my phone chimed with a notification that someone was in the foyer outside my door.

I didn’t technically own the foyer, but since my apartment was the only one on this floor, I might as well have.

And I did own the security cameras that gave me twenty-four-hour surveillance of the space.

I pulled up the footage to find my brother standing in the middle of the foyer, a large duffel bag in one hand and his phone in the other. He laughed at something before sliding the phone into his pocket and closing the distance to my front door.

The camera angle didn’t allow a view of the door itself, but I was willing to bet if it did, I would see Danielle standing in the doorway, probably still in her wedding dress.

Because she was the type of stubborn who would rather ask Miles to bring her stuff than touch the clothes I’d gotten for her.

She’d always been glaringly different from any other girl I’d dated.

I knew women who would choose love over money, but Danielle was the only one who adamantly refused everything I tried to buy her.

It was both refreshing and infuriating. I wanted to be able to take care of her financially, especially while she was my wife.

I watched the security footage until Miles left, then texted my second PA—the one I paid to pick up my lunches and dry cleaning since Sierra lived outside the city and worked a grand total of three days a week—and headed for my en suite bathroom.

Chances were Danielle wouldn’t turn the girl away when she showed up with my food delivery, and I really wanted a shower.

The warm water did nothing to ease the tension in my shoulders. You’d think having the wedding over would have offered me some kind of relief, but if anything, I felt more tightly wound than before. The wedding was the easy part. Now I had to survive months of actually being married to Danielle.

I pressed my forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall, letting my eyes fall shut.

My hand drifted down to strangle my cock while images of Danielle danced behind my lids.

I pictured how she’d looked the moment I pulled back from our kiss, the way her chest had heaved against the bodice of her wedding dress as she pulled air into her lungs.

I could still feel her breath against my lips, could feel the way my heart pounded like it wanted out of its cage, like it was trying to get to the woman with flushed cheeks and wide eyes standing before me.

Only in my fantasy, I didn’t end it there.

I went back for more. My lips crashed against hers and I grabbed her waist, pulling her closer until her body was flush with mine.

She gasped into my mouth, and a groan rumbled deep in my throat.

I lowered one hand to the slit in her skirt and wrapped my fingers around her thigh.

My hold was tight enough to leave a mark, and I liked that idea way more than I should have.

I wanted to mark her, to prove that she was mine in case the giant fucking rock I’d given her wasn’t enough to get the message across.

My mouth moved from her lips to her jaw and then down her neck, nibbling and sucking at her skin. I was damn serious about marking her.

“Hayden,” she breathed. The sound of my name falling from her lips, all breathy, was too much. She was too fucking much.

I tightened my grip on her thigh and hiked up her leg, wrapping it around my waist and pressing into the extra space the new position created.

“Dani,” I groaned into her neck. “Fuck, baby, I need this dress off. Please.” I was fairly sure I’d never begged a woman for anything in my life—unless we were counting begging my mom for a puppy when I was seven—but I honestly felt like I might die if I didn’t get rid of the clothes between us.

“Damage the dress, and I’ll kill you,” Danielle said when I reached for the neckline.

For some reason, my body found the thought of her threatening murder incredibly hot, my cock swelling even more.

She reached behind her, and several agonizing seconds later, the material of her dress fell away, leaving her in nothing but a pair of white panties and those stick-on bra things women wore with fancy dresses.

I couldn’t look away from the expanse of smooth, tawny skin over her stomach. I wanted to drop to my knees, peel those silk panties off, and bury my face between her thighs. Would she taste as sweet as I imagined?

“Are you just going to stand there staring?”

I blinked. “Yes.”

She laughed softly, and God, I loved her laugh. “Doesn’t seem very fair to me.”

“What doesn’t, Sunday School?”

“You’re still wearing all your clothes.”

I smirked. “If you want to see me naked, all you have to do is ask.”

She didn’t say a word as she closed the space between us, her delicate fingers reaching for my belt.

I couldn’t hold back my groan as she palmed my hard-on. “Dani.” I wasn’t sure if I was begging for her to stop or for more.

Her fingers curled around my dick, and she moved with tentative strokes. Her gaze flicked up to mine, and the trusting look in her eyes was my undoing.

The pressure at the base of my spine broke, and bursts of light exploded behind my lids. I threw my head back as I came.

As the high faded, I came back to reality. Water pounded against my back, I still had one arm pressed to the wall of the shower, and my breaths were coming out in soft pants.

Shit.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d come so hard, especially while jerking off by myself. Actually, that was a lie. I knew exactly how long it had been. Eight fucking months. The same amount of time I’d gone without tasting Danielle’s lips.

Double shit.

I stayed in the shower for a ridiculous amount of time like the fucking coward I was.

But eventually my growling stomach convinced me to get out.

There was hiding and then there was staying away from your own kitchen because you were too chickenshit to see the girl you’d just fantasized about while rubbing one out.

Danielle was sitting at the dining table when I finally made it downstairs. She’d changed into a mint-green long-sleeved dress that ended a couple of inches above her knees. Buttons ran all the way down the front, and a large bow was tied at the waist.

My fingers tingled with the desire to undo those buttons, to pull her into my arms and bury my face in her hair, to run my hands over every inch of her body.

I tore my gaze away from her dress and forced my attention back to her face, only to find her eyeing me up and down. I’d thrown on a pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt after my shower, but I could feel her stare through the fabric.

“Your assistant dropped off food,” Danielle said, gesturing at the unopened take-out bag on the table.

“You didn’t open it.”

“It wasn’t mine.”

“I got enough for both of us.” I retrieved a couple of forks and spoons from the kitchen and started pulling containers out of the paper bag. “What do you want?”

“I’m not eating your food.”

“What’s mine is yours, Sunday School.”

“That’s not what we agreed upon. This marriage is fake, and I don’t want anything of yours.”

My jaw clenched. “Danielle. Eat something.”

Her eyes narrowed and she folded her arms across her chest, which only served to draw my attention to her perfect breasts. Fuck, this woman was going to be the death of me.

I assumed she was going to keep arguing, but after a minute she just sighed, grabbed a container of rice, and started eating in silence.

That silence continued as we cleared the table and did the couple of dishes left. As soon as everything was cleaned up, she disappeared down the hall that led to my spare bedrooms without a backward glance, leaving an oddly hollow feeling in her wake.

I was used to living alone, to the emptiness of my apartment. I liked it. But there was something about knowing she was here that made the silence feel loud. Almost oppressive.