Page 52 of The Wrong Husband

Unable to see, everything else is magnified. His scent in the car grows more intense, until it surrounds me, wraps about me, pins me in place.

Then the car moves forward. I’m unable to stop the shivers of anticipation flaring in my cells.

"Where are we going?"

18

Phoenix

"If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise.”

A warmth squeezes my heart.It’s not arousal.It’s this traitorous sense that he cares for me…enough to have planned this. The anger I felt at his somehow causing me to have the day off has fled. In its place is a sense of relief. Like someone cut the weights I’ve been dragging behind me, letting lightness flood my chest.

“Fine.” I toss my head, trying to hide how easily I’ve given in. “But if you drive us into the Thames, I’m dragging you down with me.”

He chuckles, low and amused. The drive is longer than I expected, and with each turn, my curiosity grows. When the vehicle stops, I hear the crunch of gravel, then Connor helps me out.

"Can I take this off now?" I demand.

"Not yet." His voice is close to my ear, sending shivers racing down my spine. He keeps his hands on my shoulders, steering me gently forward. "Almost there."

A minute later, he unties the scarf, and I blink against the sudden glow. My jaw drops. In front of me stands a massive, hot air balloon, its colorful fabric billowing in the wind, lit up from within like a giant, glowing lantern. "You’ve got to be kidding me," I whisper.

Connor’s hand settles on my lower back. "I thought you could use a change of perspective. Something to clear your head, something to prompt you to leave work behind, so you can relax."

“And you thought of a hot air balloon?” I ask in disbelief.

“I thought it would help to have something to break your daily routine.”

I can’t take my gaze off the multicolored sphere. “How did you know I’ve always wanted to ride in one?” I ask slowly.

“I’d say it was a lucky guess, but—" He takes my hand and helps me into the basket—wide and sectioned into compartments, the kind used for larger flights with groups.

There are padded partitions separating passenger sections. Connor steers me toward the last one—set apart by a high woven wall that blocks the view from the rest of the basket.

This corner is different. The floor’s layered with a thick blanket. A small picnic basket is tucked into the corner, and above us, a canvas panel hangs loosely—a partial screen for added privacy. Only the open side of the basket looks out over the field below.

“But?” I prompt him.

“One time, I followed you into a bookshop. You spent a long time looking at a bookshelf. I went in after you left and realized most of the books featured hot air balloons.”

“Oh.” I remember the outing. It was a wonderful day—my first day off in a while—and I enjoyed walking around Primrose Hill and entertaining myself. “I thought I was being followed that day but put it down to my mind playing tricks on me.”

He takes my hand in his. “I’m sorry I made you doubt yourself, but I’m not sorry that I followed you.”

“You and my brother both have a nerve.” I try to pull my hand away.

He holds onto it. “We have your best interests at heart.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he shakes his head. “I understand, that doesn’t justify the fact that I had you under surveillance, but I have to point out, there’s no law against that.”

“And how about the fact that you know far more about me than I do about you, huh? Isn’t that unjust?”

His eyes glitter. I realize the error of what I said. I implied I want to find out more about him. Which reveals that I'm interested in him.

“What do you want to know?”

He runs his thumb across my wrist, and my limbic system does cartwheels.