Page 117 of The Wrong Husband

“Itisa little creepy.” She takes a step forward, graceful and deliberate, eyes scanning my face like she’s trying to read between the lines. “But it also makes me feel…wanted. Like I’ve had your full attention all along. It’s unsettling—but kind of intoxicating.”

“You’ll always have my full attention”—I drag my gaze down her body—“especially when you look likethat.”

Heat curls low in my gut. I step closer, lowering my voice.

“I had Simon’s team unpack our clothes.” Making sure it was the woman who handled her clothes. I’d never allow a man to touch them. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.” Her gaze softens.

All the desire I thought I’d managed to curtail comes roaring to the forefront. My groin hardens, and I widen my stance to accommodate my erection. I’ve taken off my linen jacket andpulled out the tails of my shirt, so it should, hopefully, hide the evidence of my desire… For now.

"For the record you have impeccable taste.” She gestures to herself. “And they fit.”

“Of course, they do.”

“There he is.” She laughs. “When your arrogance makes an appearance, it’s a reminder that underneath that tenderness and gentlemanly image is a man who gets what he wants.”

“Does that bother you?” I ask, genuinely curious.

Because I’ve made peace with who I am.I stopped apologizing for it a long time ago. That instinct to hide myself to make others more comfortable? I unlearned it.

Yes, I grew up with privilege. For a long time, I flinched at the word—privilege—like it exposed something rotten in me. Something I had to overcompensate for.

But I know better now. It’s not the money or the name that defines me—it’s what I do with them. And I’ve done my best to use them for good.

Still, I won’t lie—that silver-spoon upbringing left its mark.

I like control. I crave efficiency. I want things done right—and that usually means being done my way.

I can be possessive. Demanding. Unapologetically focused when I want something—and when it matters, I don’t back down.

But none of that makes me cruel. Or blind.

Life—and my time undercover—taught me how to temper those instincts. How to command without bulldozing. How to lead without shouting.

I’ve learned the power of staying silent when needed, of letting others speak first. Of reading a room before I take it over.

Because logic gets me farther than force. And empathy? That’s not weakness. That’s leverage.

I’m used to getting my way. But I’ve earned that. Not with arrogance, but with precision. Not through status, but by listening. By trusting my instincts. And right now, every instinct in me is tuned to her.

She starts to shake her head, then pauses, her expression caught between exasperation and desire.

“Maybe it does bother me, a little,” she admits. “But I also find it hot—and that confounds me.” A low laugh bubbles out of her. “There’s something ridiculously sexy about a man who knows what he wants. Who takes charge—but only when it counts. And knows when to let things take their course. Of course”—she waves a hand in the air—“if you’d given me the chance to pick up some clothes?—"

"But then I wouldn’t have been able to surprise you.”

"And was it important? To surprise me?" She closes the distance between us.

"It was worth it to see the pleasure on your face," I say honestly.

She comes to a stop in front of me. Her thick auburn hair hangs down her back. The pale pink of her dress picks up the flush in her cheeks. Likely, a result of the heat, but I’d like to think my nearness has something to do with it, too. And when she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear in what I know is a nervous gesture, the ring on her finger sparkles in the light slanting through the windows.

I reach for her hand and, bringing it to my mouth, kiss the ring. "You look beautiful, Wife."

"Thank you." She swallows, her blush deepening, and pulls her hand back.

I release it, then reach for the bottle of the Bollinger La Grande Année I’ve chosen especially for this occasion. I pop the cork and, pouring the frothy liquid into both of our flutes, I offer one to her, then raise my glass. "To new beginnings."