Page 131 of The Wrong Husband

Connor blows out a breath. "You should have called."

"I did; neither of you answered your phones. I figured this was as good a time as any to give this little baby a ride." He nods in the direction of the seaplane.

"You came. You spoke to us. You can tell the old man we couldn’t make it," Connor drawls.

Brody frowns. “You sure about this?”

"As you said, Arthur is fine, so there’s no real reason for us to go, is there?"

I fold my arms across our chest. "We should go."

Connor searches my features. "I don’t want to cut our honeymoon short."

"We can have another honeymoon." I touch his arm. "But this is your grandfather, and he’s unwell and asking for you. We shouldn’t ignore him.”

He searches my face. "Are you sure?"

46

Connor

"I still think we should have stayed on our honeymoon." I button up my shirt in front of the mirror in the closet.

"We’re doing the right thing. If we didn’t come, and if something were to happen to your grandfather, you’d always regret it."

She’s right, I suppose.

"Nothing’s going to happen to that old bastard. He loves attention, is all."

It’s a very domestic situation—I’ve just showered and am getting dressed on my side of the closet in front of the mirror with my back to her. I watch her reflection as she picks out the clothes, she needs from her side of the closet.

"He’s old. Any setback to his health should be treated seriously," she admonishes me, then reaches up to grab a dress. "Regardless of the differences between the two of you, he’s still family." She turns to me and stares at the strip of skin exposed by the lapels of my shirt in the mirror.

Then she meets my gaze, realizes I caught her staring, flushes, and glances away.

Considering everything I’ve done to her body, it’s cute that she’s blushing because she’s seeing me getting dressed.

She has no idea how much I enjoy having her eyes on me.

To prove a point, I begin to roll up the cuffs of my shirt. She peeks at me from the corners of her eyes, and her gaze widens. She seems entranced by my actions and unable to tear her gaze away from my exposed forearms. Just to test out my theory, I raise my hand and run it through my hair, finger combing back the damp hair on my head.

It makes my biceps bulge and stretches the shirt across my chest. She swallows.

I stifle a smile. Yes, I’m using my body to distract her, and damn, if that doesn’t feel brilliant. The fact that I can stop her in her tracks and make her forget what she’s saying is top-notch.

"You were saying?" I prompt her.

"Uh, so uh, I was saying that—" She shakes her head. "That— It doesn’t matter." She grabs underwear from the drawer before she turns and scurries off.

I called ahead and asked for a personal shopper to stock the closet with enough clothes to tide her over until she’s had a chance to move her clothes over from her place.

Once we reached London, I asked Brody to drop us off at my place so we could shower and change into a fresh pair of clothes before meeting him and the rest of the family at Arthur’s place for an early dinner.

Turns out, Arthur recovered enough to be discharged from the hospital. But in honor of our return, he decided to host a dinner for us.Damn, that was one quick recovery.

Perhaps he really was unwell, but it's typical of the old man to milk any occasion for sympathy and use it as an excuse to get the family together.

Tucking my shirt into the waistband of my pants, I follow her out of the closet.