Page 14

AIDEN

I ’m in a stand-off with the dog on Thursday night. I’m on the couch, and it’s at my feet, staring mournfully at my face. Or at least what I assume is mournfully, because again, no eyes.

“She’ll be home soon,” I tell it, and turn another page in my book. It’s a good book, or at least I think it is. I’ve made seven pages of progress in—I check my watch—twenty minutes. I scowl at the door, as if that’ll make her come walking through it.

We need to have it out and bury whatever happened between us during sparring. Make it clear that it meant nothing. The admission I shouldn’t have made meant nothing.

The animal gives a soft doggy woof and digs its face farther into its paws. It’s either hungry or it misses her.

I push my reading glasses higher and settle deeper into the leather couch. It’s perfectly worn, just like the mug of tea next to me is perfectly positioned so I can reach for it without looking. “She doesn’t work that late, dog. Buck up. It’s pathetic that you’re here waiting for her, you know.”

The dog raises its head.

“I’m not waiting for her.” I hold the book up. “I’m reading.”

Even if I’ve read the same page four times and all I can think about is the way Emory felt under me. Enjoy the memory, I remind myself, because it’s never happening again.

If only my body would get on board with that thought.

The dog noses my foot.

“That’s very rude.” I pull back, then grab my phone. “I’ll feed you, but only because I want you to stop bothering me. I’m supposed to be having a quiet night in.”

And it was going so well before the dog.

I sigh. The issue with a quiet night is that my thoughts are too loud, the direction of them unpleasant.

I never used to read with music, and now I keep it on all the time.

Even the couch under me doesn’t feel the same as it did before, and I’ve been sitting in the same damn spot, determined to get that comfortable feeling back.

Instead, I worry that maybe it’s me who’s changed, that I might not fit into my old life anymore.

In the text thread with Emory are the messages from the night we eloped and nothing else.

It’s like we have an unspoken agreement that the less contact we have, the better.

I leave before she gets up. She eats when I’m locked in the study at night.

I shower when I know her door is closed.

We’ve made zero progress on faking our love match, unless you count the twenty minutes a day I spend fantasizing about her in the shower.

Unfortunately, Dream Emory is far more compliant than my actual wife would ever be.

Aiden Prince

Where are you?

She doesn’t reply right away, so I fiddle with my phone, turning up the volume on the Vines album I have on in the background. The dog sighs.

“I know,” I tell it. “She’s very irresponsible.” I read one page, then another, and I’m just getting into the book when my phone lights up.

Emory

At a thing. Why? Miss me already?

Aiden

I think it’s hungry

I send a photo of the animal so she knows the it I’m referring to

Emory

His name is Dusty, and he’s not hungry. He’s scamming you. I fed him on my lunch break.

I look at the dog. He’s just a sad lump, with his legs splayed and his belly flat on my expensive rug. “That’s vintage,” I tell him. “You’re rubbing your parts all over it.”

Dusty noses my foot again, and I pull back, just as repelled as the first time.

“You have no self-respect, dog. I’m going to feed you and then we are going to go our separate ways. I’m going to read and I’m not going to think about her. You’re going to rub your bits on the patio instead of my furnishings. Got it?”

The dog presses its head to the inside of my foot. It’s better than a tongue, I suppose.

Aiden

I’m fresh out of the souls of the innocent. What else does it eat?

Emory

That’s okay. He likes his souls organic. Very hard to find.

My mouth lifts against my will. Emory is funny when she’s not being a monster in five-inch heels.

Aiden

Kibble, then?

Emory

The balls of men who annoy me when I’m working

Those are in my underwear drawer. Next to the dog food.

I’m already standing by the time I realize she must be joking. Surely she wouldn’t? I eye the dog. She might. And he looks hungry. I take the stairs two at a time and push open the door to the guest bedroom.

I’ve never minded the modest house I keep on the property until now. What genius decided one bathroom adjoining two bedrooms was a good idea?

What genius let his mortal enemy move in with him?

Right.

The room mirrors mine—king bed, linen coverlet, in green instead of gold, a simple dresser and bookshelf.

All high quality, all older than I am. Her bookshelf already has books on it.

There are shoes scattered on the floor and a stack of books on the nightstand like any good nightstand should have.

I wonder if she can’t decide what to read each night, just like I can’t.

There are too many possibilities and not enough time.

These books look far more interesting than mine. I pick the top one off the stack. It’s a romance about a—I turn it over—a crab fisherman? And a socialite?

I flip to a random page, then immediately close the book. Tell me you’re wet. Tell me to put it in. The words are burned behind my eyelids. I blow out a slow breath and crack the book again. A new part this time.

I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.

The words make something warm draw up through my chest. This is what she reads? The sex, I expected. It matches the spiked stilettos on the floor and the red lipstick on her dresser.

But this? She reads about people falling in love, and I don’t know what to make of it.

Maybe she just likes the hot parts. If so, I can’t blame her. I place the book carefully back on the stack, making sure it’s aligned the way I found it before I pull open the top drawer of her dresser.

A knot of need twists inside me when I see the contents. Red underwear. Black too, but mostly red. Lace and ribbons and garter sets. I pick up a bra before I can stop myself. She wears this? Every day?

I want to scrub the knowledge from my brain, but my imagination is running away with me. I’m already thickening in my pants.

Aiden

No kibble in here

Emory

You checked???

She was joking. And I ran upstairs to paw at her underwear because, just like when I was eighteen, I can’t stop thinking about what she has on under her clothes. I send her a picture of my hand holding a fistful of lace before I can think better of it. She started it.

Emory

You’d better not jerk off with that

Aiden

If I did, I’d choose this one

Theoretically

I send another photo, this time with a lace thong dangling from my finger.

God, I so would. Heat zips up my spine, racing unwelcome and hot through my blood.

Emory

I want you to know I’m going to burn that later

I choke out a laugh. I’ve never felt this way before—like my insides are filled with champagne. I’m turned on and embarrassed, and my fingers are definitely running away with me in a way that my mouth rarely does.

Aiden

You’d do that to this innocent pair of underwear?

Emory

If you rub it on your junk? Absolutely

It’s a delicate wisp of fabric the color of blood.

The same color as that bra she had in college.

I’d rather die than admit I thought about that bra, but it’s still the one she wears every night in my head.

And fuck it makes me such a jerk, but I want to wrap this little lace thong around my cock and pretend it’s her I’m fucking.

Aiden

You wish

Emory

No, you wish, actually. Or so you said on Monday.

Fucking hell. I don’t want to talk about that with her.

Emory has no idea what it was like to grow up the Prince family heir.

God, I can’t imagine how Grandfather would have reacted, or even my father, if I’d so much as smiled at Emory.

Admitting I was checking her out would have gotten me grounded for a week, at least.

What good would it have done me? Emory was never an option. I never even considered her that way, except as a reluctant obsession. She was awful. She is awful. But she was, and is, really fucking hot.

Exactly my type.

My tongue swipes over my lips. She’s hotter now than she was before.

Long, long hair, golden and sunny. Freckles on her nose because she spends time outside.

Strong arms and shoulders, a little soft where it counts.

Small breasts that her dresses and bras cup just right.

And that waist. I love her waist. How high it is, how it nips in a bit and then flares out in hips that go on forever.

Every woman should have a waist like that.

It leaves more room for the rest of her, and those are my very favorite parts.

Emory Hunter is my weakness.

She always has been.

The day she poured that soda on my shoes in the lunchroom was the day I realized how much I wanted her.

At eighteen, when I was a mess of hormones, I didn’t need porn. I had Emory. Her taunting text messages. Her too-full lips. Her flashing eyes.

Aiden

I was eighteen. A stiff breeze would have gotten me hard.

Emory

It must be tough for you during hurricanes

I grin at the phone. Not what I expected her to say, and now my heart pounds as my fingers fly over the keyboard. I’m sitting on the bed, and I don’t even remember sitting down.

Aiden

So many erections, so little time

Emory

Is that what you’re doing while sailing every morning?

My smile grows. This woman. She’s a fucking menace. I can picture her texting me, that smirk on her face, the one she always used to wear when she beat me at something.

Aiden

What do you think I am, some sort of criminal? Public decency laws are a thing, evil queen.

I wait, grinning at the screen, then pressing my lips flat, tapping my fingers on my knee.

I wait until I’m below deck, obviously

I send the second message and wonder what she’s doing. Probably working. Is she turned on? Is she smiling?

Why the hell do I care?

Emory

Of course. Wouldn’t want to scar the populace with your five inches.

I snort into the silence.

Aiden

I know you felt more than that

Emory

You mean the sock stuffed into your shorts?

Aiden

You must admit, keeping a sock down there would be efficient

I make myself smile with that one.

Emory

It wasn’t breezy in the gym, as I recall

My smile falls, and I scrub a hand over my face. Emory can’t know I want her. Not when she has the upper hand. Either we’re in this together or not at all. Equals in every way.

Aiden

You’re a body

I’m a body

Nothing more than that

Emory

The romance is strong with you

Aiden

You don’t need romance, remember?

Although. I snap a picture of the book.

Aiden

Why do you have these, then?

Emory

I read them

Aiden

Why?

She doesn’t respond for several minutes.

I stride out of the room and into my bedroom.

Grandfather is emailing me, setting up a date I don’t want with the oldest daughter of our largest buyer.

A hotel heiress whose family does millions in business with us every year.

I can’t say no, and he knows it. He’s escalating.

I flick back to my messages with Emory. We need to start trusting each other in earnest. I need to tell her about the date.

Emory

Why do you care?

She’s hiding something. Just like she has in the past. My pulse picks up. My fingers race over the phone.

Aiden

We can’t fake a marriage if we don’t get to know each other

Emory

Fine. What do you want to know?

Aiden

Why do you read romance novels?

Emory

Because evil queens don’t fall in love and humans are made to dream about things they can’t have

There’s a dull ache in my chest at her words. They stare back at me from the screen. In my head, Emory is an undimmable light. Brazen, overconfident, walking with a swing to her hips and a catlike smile on her face. That woman doesn’t dream about things she can’t have. She can have everything.

Aiden

A crab fisherman? That’s your dream?

Emory

Very funny

I picture her sitting in her car, her face lit up by her phone, not coming home because she knows I’m here.

Aiden

I have a boat too, you know

Emory

His is probably bigger

Aiden

Smoother ride on mine

Emory

You are SUCH a man

Aiden

Thank you

Plus, he probably smells like crab

Emory

It’s a fantasy, dummy. He’s a scruffy, regular guy who will fix your car and make you dinner and do it wearing flannel.

Aiden

We have caterers. And I could grow out my hair. Maybe wear a beanie.

I would rather stuff my head into a trash compactor than wear a beanie, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Emory

Don’t. I like your hair the way it is.

I blink at the phone. She what? My mouth hitches up at the side. She probably didn’t want to admit that. Her next message comes quickly on the heels of the first.

Emory

I take that back

Aiden

No chance

I’ll take you sailing. You can look for crabs. And you can tell me how much you like my hair.

Emory

You’re never going to let me forget this, are you?

Aiden

Nope

That compliment is going to keep me warm until I die

Emory

Soon, I hope?

I burst out laughing. My shoulders shake, and I lean weakly against the pillows. The dog comes bounding up the stairs and skids into my room. He’s just as alarmed as I am about the sounds coming out of my mouth.

I’m still grinning when I text her about the polo match. Emory Hunter might be terrible, but she is pretty funny.