Page 59 of The Wrong Husband

22

Connor

I tuck her torn bra and panties into my pocket before helping her back into her clothes.

Watching her come undone beneath my mouth—feeling her shatter and lose every last thread of control—was a deeper, rawer satisfaction than chasing my own release could ever give me.

We eat on the blanket, surrounded by the clouds and the sight of the city below. The sun brings out the strands of red in her auburn hair. Her hazel eyes, dilated earlier, regain their color. As she relaxes, the golden flecks in her eyes sparkle. She looks around, taking in our temporary position, far away from everything and everyone. But her swollen lips and the remnants of red on her cheeks, along with her hair, which is down from her messy bun, declare exactly what we’ve been up to. A surge of pride fills me.

I’m responsible for relaxing her, thanks to the orgasm I gave her. It’s clear, something is bothering her. I hoped she’d confide in me. And I'm disappointed she hasn’t.

But I have faith in myself…and in this connection between us. It’s only a matter of time before she tells me. I’ll coax it out of her. I’ll win her trust, so she'll feel comfortable enough to share everything with me. For now, I want her to take this time for herself. To enjoy this interval where there are no other demands on her time… Except for mine, that is.

"This wine is amazing." She takes another sip, then beams at me. The openness in her features, the curve of her lips, the softness around her eyes… All of it makes my heart skip a beat.

"Youare amazing." I raise a glass in her direction.

She blushes. "You…you don’t need to sweet talk me."

"I’m not." I take her flute and place it on the floor, along with mine. "It’s not every day that I skip my responsibilities and plan a trip in a balloon with a beautiful woman." I take her hand in mine.

"Oh." She lowers her chin. "It’s not every day thatIskip my responsibilities and get to ride in a balloon with a handsome man."

“You think I’m handsome?” I smirk.

“I knew that was coming.” She groans. “And you know that you are.”

I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her fingertips. “It’s different hearing it from you.”

She swallows. “You’re turning on the charm, aren’t you?”

“Is it working?”

She laughs a little. This time, when she tugs on her hand, I release it. She locks her fingers together and places them in her lap.

“I know you come from a very wealthy family and you’re James’ friend. I didn’t hear much about you because—” Shehesitates. “Because James is ten years older than me. He left home when I was eight. He joined the Marines, traveled the world, then became very busy trying to make his career as a chef.”

So, she’s taking me up on asking me questions about myself. Good. I want her to get to know me better. Enough that she begins to trust me.

“When did the two of you meet?” She tilts her head.

“He was in the same platoon as my oldest brother, Nathan. He came home a few times, and we hit it off. When he left the Marines and was trying to launch his restaurant, I invested in his business.”

“James didn’t draw on his inheritance to get started?”

“Like you, he was independent enough to want to make it on his own. He used the money he’d saved from his career and raised the rest.”

“That must have been difficult,” she says slowly.

“It was bloody hard. But he’s a stubborn son-of-a-bitch. He persisted.”

“And look where he is today.” She takes another sip of her wine. “It’s quite inspiring. Gives me hope that if I keep persisting in my chosen career, one day soon… Perhaps… I’ll see the light.”

“And what’s that?”

She shoots me a sideways glance.

“Where do you want to be five, ten years from now?” I prompt.