Page 16 of Slightly Married (Irresistible #2)

I awoke with a dull throbbing ache in my leg. The pain served as a persistent reminder of the shooting. This particular wound, I sensed, would never truly heal.

Stepping onto the balcony of my Corfu estate, I welcomed the cool morning breeze against my skin as I lit a cigar. Uncertainty wasn’t a sensation I typically entertained—this feeling of being adrift, without clear direction—and I found it profoundly unsettling.

After the incident in the car, I’d whisked Kayla onto my private jet bound for Corfu, unable to consider any other destination where we might find privacy. She’d been rightfully furious about traveling, but her anger had transformed into something else entirely somewhere over the Mediterranean.

I still felt the ghost of her fingers digging into my shoulders as she’d straddled me on the jet’s leather seat, taking what she wanted. Upon reaching this estate, we’d barely made it through the door before I had her pressed against the wall, both of us insatiable.

Between rounds of lovemaking, she’d demanded takeout and my bank card. She purchased ten new dresses, along with several other items, to be delivered later today. I hadn’t checked the total. I would give her anything she asked for.

Throughout the night, I returned to her again and again, as if her body contained some essential element I’d been missing my entire life.

I craved her presence, her voice, her unfiltered reactions.

This unfamiliar hunger for another person’s company was perhaps the most disorienting development of all.

My phone rang, and I saw Stella’s name on the screen. I’d almost forgotten about her. Almost.

“I’m back in Athens. Where are you?” Her voice carried a note of accusation beneath the question.

Stella’s voice should have been a welcome reminder of my commitments. Instead, I found myself impatient for the call to end.

“Corfu,” I replied, watching a fishing boat cut through the waters below.

“I can come to you,” she offered. “I’ve never seen the property and would love to spend time with you.”

“I appreciate the offer, Stella, but I need this time for myself.”

“This time of year is hard for both of us. We can help each other. Don’t shut me out, my love.”

I exhaled a stream of smoke, watching it dissipate in the breeze. The anniversary of the shooting, which left me injured and my friend dead, was moving closer.

“How about you visit your father in Switzerland? He’ll need you more than I do right now.”

There was a pause. “Papa never went to Switzerland.”

The news wasn’t surprising, but her timing was. “Why didn’t you tell me before now?”

“You’ve not exactly been the most responsive lately. It’s your marriage to that woman. I think you should end it. It’s not worth the distance in our relationship.”

I turned at the sound of movement to see Kayla appearing in the balcony doorway, shifting aside the filmy curtains that threatened to envelop her face in the breeze.

“I have to go,” I told Stella, ending the call before she could protest.

“You okay?” Kayla stood before me in a robe, her eyes studying my face.

“Of course,” I answered. “Why?”

She pointed. “Because you’re rubbing your leg.” Her expression held curiosity and concern.

I took a final draw on my cigar before extinguishing it, then beckoned her closer. “It throbs occasionally,” I admitted. “Especially when overworked.”

I expected her to take the adjacent chair, but instead, she kneeled at my feet.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Her hands found my leg, her touch gentle as she began working the tightened muscles. When she found her rhythm, I nearly groaned, sinking deeper into the chair and closing my eyes.

“Just relax, K. I got you,” she murmured.

“K?” I opened one eye.

“Konstantin is too damn long and nobody has time to say all that.”

A smile formed before I could suppress it. I surrendered to her ministrations, the tension in my body gradually releasing.

Then, something unexpected began to happen. Her touch became almost imperceptible, yet I felt warmth spreading through me, not just where her hands worked but throughout my entire body, as if I were an empty vessel being slowly filled.

“What exactly are you doing to me?”

She chuckled softly. “Reiki. I studied it when I lived in Japan.”

I regarded her with genuine interest. “You lived in Japan?”

“Mm-hmm. I was obsessed with the culture at one point and lived there for a year. Then I met Josh.”

The mention of her ex-husband required no elaboration.

“What drew you there?”

She smiled, her hands continuing their gentle work on my leg. “After dropping out of college, I was just... exploring. Everyone in my family has a prestigious degree. My mom nearly had a heart attack when I told her I wasn’t going back for my junior year.”

“Rebellious.”

“More like honest with myself,” she corrected. “I hated every minute of those lecture halls. My trust fund gave me the freedom to choose my own path, so I did. Japan had always fascinated me, so I just... went.”

“That sounds like quite a leap.”

“It was the first time I felt completely free,” she admitted.

“I rented this apartment in Kyoto, learned to navigate using only Japanese signs, made friends despite the language barrier.” Her voice carried a hint of pride.

“People underestimate how much you can communicate without perfect words when you’re really paying attention to them. ”

“And then you met your ex-husband.”

“Josh was an English teacher at one of the international schools. He seemed so worldly and certain about everything.” Her voice carried a note of self-reproach. “He convinced me to return to New York where we could build a ‘real life’ together.”

“You were young,” I offered, watching her expression soften at my words.

“Not too young not to know better,” she said with a rueful smile. “But I learned what I needed from that mistake.” She looked up, meeting my gaze with unexpected intensity. “Honesty matters more than charm. Actions more than promises.”

Her hands continued their gentle work on my leg, her touch both soothing and distracting. After a moment of comfortable silence between us, she asked, “How does it feel to get shot?”

The question caught me by surprise. Most people avoided the topic entirely, treating it like forbidden territory.

“Initially, there’s no pain,” I said, my voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry beyond our shared space. “Just a strange pressure and heat. Your body doesn’t immediately recognize what’s happened.”

I shifted, watching her hands move. “Then comes the cold. It spreads from the wound outward. Time slows. You hear everything with unnatural clarity. The actual pain arrives later, after the shock fades.”

“Does it bother you that I asked?” she questioned, finally looking up to meet my eyes.

“No,” I replied honestly. “You’re the second person who’s asked. Santo was the first.”

“Most people are afraid to ask about painful experiences. They think they’re being kind by avoiding the subject.

But sometimes talking about trauma helps process it.

” Her fingers traced a circular pattern on my thigh.

“After my mother died, my friends walked on eggshells around me. They meant well, but their silence made her absence feel even more enormous. Did you have nightmares afterward?”

“Yes. For months. Sometimes I still do.”

“I had them too, after Mom,” she admitted quietly. “Not about her death itself, but about all the conversations we’d never have.” She paused. “Does talking about it help? Or does it just reopen the wound?”

“Both.”

“Survivor’s guilt. Who was he? The friend who died that day?”

“Theo was my best friend since childhood. We grew up together, attended the same schools, and even shared business interests.” I found myself speaking more freely.

“He stood by me when our friendship group of four deteriorated.” I deliberately avoided mentioning Yiorgos and Elana.

“He was a brilliant lawyer and a loyal friend. He took the bullet meant for me.”

I fell silent for a moment, wishing for whiskey despite the early hour.

“The murderers boarded my yacht wearing masks, demanding money. When I refused, their leader decided I should be tied up and ransomed. Theo must have heard the commotion from his cabin and come to investigate.” The memory played vividly in my mind.

“His appearance startled them, and we managed to disarm two of them. But one had a second weapon and aimed at me. Theo—” My voice caught unexpectedly.

“Theo jumped in front of me. I rushed to him when he went down, and in that moment of distraction, I was shot in the knee and chest while holding him. I lost consciousness shortly after. I should have been the one to die that day, not him.”

I’d rehearsed this story countless times in police reports and insurance claims, but never had I shared the emotional weight of that day.

Kayla moved her hands from my thigh to my chest, her palms pressing against the scar tissue beneath my shirt. The warmth of her touch penetrated deeper than skin, reaching something broken inside me.

“I’m deeply sorry about your friend, but you survived because you were meant to.”

“In fifteen days, it will be a year since his death,” I confessed. “And I’m no closer to discovering who was behind it or why.”

The private investigator had uncovered nothing new, and the police investigation had slowed to a crawl. Each passing month without answers only deepened my frustration.

She surprised me by climbing into my lap and settling against my chest. I wrapped my arms around her, accepting the comfort she offered without the usual barriers I maintained.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

She looked up, her brow furrowed. “For what?”

“For asking about him. For listening.” I traced the curve of her cheek with my thumb. “Most people tiptoe around the subject as if mentioning his name might break me.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who breaks easily,” she replied, her eyes holding mine with unexpected tenderness.

The shared vulnerability created a different kind of intimacy than I’d experienced before. Physical desire remained, but now it was intertwined with an emotion wanting me to be closer to her in every way.

“I think we should remain here a while longer,” I suggested, breathing in the faint vanilla scent of her skin. “We should know each other better if we’re to be parents.”

The truth was simpler than I wanted to admit. I wanted to understand her, to let her understand me. I wanted to continue experiencing the unfamiliar sensations and emotions only she seemed capable of evoking.

I experienced desire, companionship, and affection before. But this consuming awareness of another person’s existence was entirely new.

“Maybe we should invite Stella,” she countered with a smirk. “After all, she’ll be our child’s stepmother.”

I tightened my hold. “You’re a brat.”

“I’m serious,” she insisted with mock solemnity. “We should make this a threesome.”

Before I could formulate a proper response, her hand slipped beneath the waistband of my boxers, stroking me. This touch wasn’t meant to heal. It was designed to arouse, and it succeeded immediately.

I captured her lips in a kiss, starting slow, then deepening with each passing second. The taste of her, the scent of her skin and the warmth of her body against mine, all of it combined into something intoxicating.

“I hope our daughter doesn’t inherit your smart mouth,” I murmured against her lips.

She smiled against mine. “And I hope our son doesn’t marry one woman while engaged to another.”

When my hands found their way to her breasts, she groaned. “We should stop, K,” she whispered, her body contradicting her words. “We’ve already done it five times.”

I continued kissing her, trailing my lips along her jaw to her ear. “But we’re supposed to make a baby together,” I reminded her. “Now, squat and let me in.”

The brief flash of command in my voice seemed to excite rather than offend her. She complied, positioning herself above me before slowly sinking down, taking me completely inside her.

I let out a low groan as she moved, slowly at first, her eyes locked onto mine. There was no rush, no urgency.

My hands found her hips, guiding her as she rose and fell. Each movement was a dance of give and take. I could feel her heartbeat, her breath mingling with mine as we kissed deeply, our tongues exploring each other’s mouths with a tender curiosity.

The sound of the sea, the rustle of the leaves, the distant hum of life beyond the balcony became a distant murmur, overpowered by the rhythm of our bodies and the soft, wet sounds of our union.

Every time she sank down, I could feel her more deeply, as if she were reaching into the very core of me. It was a sensation unlike any other, a blend of physical pleasure and emotional intimacy that left me feeling invincible.

Her movements became more insistent, her breaths turning into soft, desperate moans. Her walls tightened around me, her body trembling as she neared the edge.

“K...” Her voice was a whisper. “Yes, yes, yes!”

I knew she was close, and I wanted to be there with her. I moved with her, my hips rising to meet each of her downward thrusts, our bodies perfectly synchronized.

Her cry of release was muffled by my lips as I captured her mouth in a fierce kiss. I followed her over the edge, my climax ripping through me, unmooring me from everything except the woman in my arms.