Page 20 of The Wrong Husband (The Davenports #6)

Connor

"What did you do after?" Brody, my middle brother, drawls. He’s the most controlled of all my brothers. For him to ask a question means something about my story must have struck a chord. I don’t blame him.

How many women would dump a jug of water on their date before leaving?

Uncomfortable? Yes, but she earned my respect.

That was a week ago.

We’re in the den in Sinclair Sterling’s home, where this week’s poker session is being hosted. The game started past midnight, so Viktor, the Crown Prince of Verenza and my brother-in-law, could join. He came straight from the airport, having just flown in from Verenza.

It’s 4:30 a.m., and the game shows no sign of slowing down. The room is dimly lit, a single antique chandelier casting a warm glow over the poker table.

"What would I do?" I survey my hand. While the other patrons sniggered and a couple of them applauded, she walked away, leaving me to grab a napkin and try to dry myself. "By the time I looked up, she was marching out of the restaurant." What a woman!

I caught sight of her straight back and ample backside, which stretched the dress she was wearing and captivated me, until she pushed the door to the restaurant open and disappeared.

I also had to contend with James walking over to me with a smirk and a satisfied expression on his face. I glared at him, cautioned him not to say a word, then paid my bill and left.

James said he doesn’t need me to keep an eye on her anymore. I told him I agreed.

I lied.

Because the truth is—I’m not ready to stop.

Not now. Not after all this time. Not after she’s become a part of my routine, my day, my life.

Sure, James asked me to start the surveillance. But the decision to continue? That’s all me.

Now that she knows I was watching her, it only makes sense to bring in someone else.

Someone I trust. Someone I’ve trained. Someone discreet enough to blend into the background but sharp enough to keep me informed. Because I need to know where she goes. Who she sees. How she moves through her days.

It’s obsessive. It’s stalker behavior. I know that. But I also know it keeps her safe.

And it gives me the one thing I can’t seem to let go of— access to her.

I tell myself it’s for strategy. That I need intel to woo her properly. To understand her rhythms. Her habits. Her tells.

But the truth?

I can’t stop watching her. Can’t stop thinking of her. Can’t stop obsessing about her.

Because I meant every word—I want to marry her.

The idea sparked the moment I saw her staring at that wedding dress in the shop window. But it took root when she leaned over me in the ER—her fingers brushing my skin as she stitched me up, her scent cutting through antiseptic like it was meant only for me.

Even in those shapeless scrubs, her body called to mine. The steadiness in her hands, the sympathy in her eyes, the way she made pain feel like something I’d earned— Hell, I never stood a chance.

She didn’t just tend my wounds. She carved herself into my bloodstream.

There’s a pull toward her I can’t explain, only feel. Raw. Unavoidable. Like gravity.

I’ve been searching for her without knowing it. And now that I’ve found her, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her close. I’ll use every advantage to make sure she’s in my life.

So, I made her an offer. Laid it out like a business deal. Logical. Strategic. Safe.

Because I couldn’t risk a no.

Because I’m not confident that what I feel for her is enough for her to agree to be with me. Not when she doesn’t know me well enough, and because… Feelings alone aren’t always enough to move people.

Sometimes, it scares them away.

And m-a-y-b-e, it’s fear that what I said wouldn’t matter. That my words wouldn’t be enough. That she’d walk—even if I handed her my heart.

So, I gave her what I knew she couldn’t ignore. Something solid. Concrete. A reason to stay. Marriage with benefits that she couldn’t turn down.

That buys me time to show her what she means to me. How much she needs me. Because she may not know it yet, but I’m the one thing she can count on.

Viktor leans back in his chair, blue eyes narrowed as he studies his cards.

Across from him, Toren Whittington yawns—a deliberate move. Once a sworn enemy of our family, he became an unlikely ally after helping us fend off a Madison takeover. Then his sister married Tyler, and his entry into the family was official.

He slouches like he’s bored, but his eyes are razor sharp, scanning the table.

To my right, Sinclair—our host—stacks his chips into surgical little towers.

Toren makes the opening move.

“I’m in.” He flicks chips into the pot. “Try not to cry when I take your money.”

Viktor snorts. “Keep dreaming.”

“He’s funding our entertainment,” Brody drawls, sipping his whiskey. “A generous donor, really.”

“Charity work,” Sinclair adds dryly, not looking up from his cards.

Toren puffs on his cigar. “You’re all just jealous of my optimism.” He shoots a grin at Sinclair. “Besides, I heard you lost your shirt last week.”

“That was strategy,” Sinclair says, cracking his neck. “Long game.”

“You look tired. Way past your bedtime, old man.” Toren smirks.

Sinclair scoffs. “After 3 a.m. wakeups and diaper duty? Poker night’s downhill skiing.”

I glance at my cards, toss in a stack and, “Call.”

Viktor watches me. “Confident, are we?”

“Trying to make things interesting.”

Brody grins, adding his chips. “I’m in.”

Sinclair matches the pot. “Wouldn’t want to miss this showdown.”

Toren taps ash into a tray and tosses in more. “In.”

Viktor completes the circle. “Let’s go.”

My phone buzzes on the table. I glance at it—a message from the team watching her. I flip it face-down.

Brody’s eyes flick to the screen. “Business?”

“Personal.” I grind my jaw.

Toren smirks. “That wouldn’t be the good doctor, would it?”

“Play the damn game,” I mutter.

Viktor leans forward. “You’re rattled. That’s new.”

“Oh, he’s definitely off his game,” Brody says with a grin.

“You don’t strike me as the kind to let personal distractions in,” Viktor notes. “She must be something.”

I glare. “Stay in your lane.”

Brody laughs. “That’s basically a confession.”

I toss in more chips. “Enough talking. Play.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “When Connor’s curt, he’s hiding something.”

Toren chuckles. “Or someone.”

“You’ll crack eventually,” Brody murmurs.

“Put your chips where your mouths are,” I retort.

Sinclair lifts a brow. “Touchy tonight.”

“It’s refreshing,” Viktor adds. “The great Connor Davenport—undone by a woman.”

Brody leans back, satisfied. “Speaking of… Any word on Michael?”

He means Michael Sovrano, Sinclair’s brother-in-law. Michael’s wife Karma, suffered a massive heart attack during childbirth. We were all told she died as a result.

But rumors persist that Michael took her and the kids and moved back to Italy.

Sinclair calmly pushes his entire stack into the pot. “All in. Let’s see who’s bluffing.”

He avoided the question. Interesting. Maybe he knows more than he’s letting on?

“All in.” Viktor meets the raise

Toren hesitates, then sets his jaw. “Screw it. I’m in.”

“Let’s go.” Brody’s grin widens.

I push my chips in. “Game on.” Then I lay down my hand.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Toren growls.

Sinclair curses aloud. Viktor shakes his head.

Brody lifts his glass. “Should’ve seen it coming.”

I rake the pot toward me with zero humility. “Next time, stay out of my personal life.”

Viktor chuckles. “The night’s still young.”

“Good.” Brody tips his glass. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

For a second, surrounded by my brother and friends, I feel almost content. Almost. I’ve always been the outsider—too sharp, too fast. School, university, research—never belonged.

Even in biochemistry, peers resented how quickly I cracked what they couldn’t. That’s what made the Secret Service so appealing. New names. New roles. Control.

But Phe changed everything.

She's had me heated since I met her. My own personal fever. My Fever.

She gives me purpose. Something real. She’s mine. And I’m not letting her go.

My phone buzzes again. Another update . The lights are on in her house. She’s up. She normally leaves for work around 6:30 a.m.

I check the time; it’s 5 a.m. Time to move.

“Gotta go,” I say, rising. “Try not to bankrupt each other.”

"Hey, I thought you were giving me a chance to recoup my losses?" Viktor protests.

"Next time." I nod at Brody. "You can donate my winnings, as usual." I pocket my phone and run out of there. I slide behind the wheel of my Aston Martin.

It’s luxurious, yet practical for high speeds, and doesn’t stand out in London’s traffic. And now that she knows my identity, I no longer have to use the van as a disguise. I can’t use this car when I’m undercover, so it is with great pleasure that I ease the vehicle onto the road.

I drive up the road leading to her home and slow to a crawl to keep pace with her walking on the sidewalk.

She notices me and keeps walking. She’s dressed in her usual yoga pants and T-shirt… And her yellow clogs. She still hasn’t bought new shoes. She’s enroute to the hospital.

I pull ahead of her, come to a stop, then open the door to the vehicle. When she draws abreast, I call out, “Get in the car, Doc.”

She ignores me.

"Doc. Get. In. The. Car."