Page 35 of The Wrong Husband (The Davenports #6)

Connor

I peer through the windshield of the car at the doors to the hospital. I parked a little way off, so she wouldn’t notice my car.

After I dropped her, I wanted to wait for her and bring her home, but she said she didn’t know how long she’d take in there. She told me it was best I leave and that she’d find her way back home. I agreed, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave.

I can’t stand to be away from her. But I also don’t want to crowd her—I’ll simply watch her from a distance. There’s no telling how long she's going to be in there. It might be midnight by the time she’s done. But I’m fine to wait. I want to make sure that she gets home okay.

When I’m not with her, I think about her.

And when I’m with her, it’s all I can do to not keep touching her.

To hear the cadence of her voice. Relish the touch of my fingers on her skin.

To hold her close. To look into her eyes and track what brings her pleasure.

To be inside her and feel her snug pussy squeezing down on my cock.

I want it all. I want a future with her…

And a part of me is sure she wants it, too.

Only, she’s conflicted about it, and I don’t understand why.

On the other hand, when she confessed that she wanted our marriage to be real, I heard the sincerity in her voice. Felt the veracity of her intent. She wants this as much as me. But she's still marrying me primarily to get access to money to help her ER.

Perhaps, that’s why it feels like she's holding something back from me? I felt sure the call she took wasn’t from the hospital. But that must be my imagination working overtime. There’s no need for her to lie to me, is there?

I could get my team looking into her background, question those she works with at the hospital.

I could dig into her past and find out if there’s anything she’s keeping from me—but then I’d be doing exactly what she accused me of: prying into her life without her permission.

So far, I’ve not crossed that line. I haven't intruded into her private life. And I intend to keep it that way. I plan to give her enough space and show her how much she means to me, so if she has anything to share, she’ll do so of her own volition.

I crack my neck, roll my shoulders, then try to find that center of myself as I settle down to wait.

My phone buzzes. The screen shows: Brody calling.

I answer the FaceTime call. "What?"

"You still single?"

I groan. "The fuck do you want?"

His lips twitch, which is Brody speak for a chuckle. Man’s sewn tighter than a switch on a ticking time bomb—holding together long enough to fool you.

"Is that a hint of frustration in your voice? Shouldn’t this pre-wedding stage be when you’re getting it on all the time?" he drawls.

And now, my normally more-silent-than-a-grave brother is making jokes. What in the ever lovin’ fuck is going on?

I thump my forehead against the steering wheel. "If that’s what you called me for, I’m going to hang up."

"Where are you parked?" He peers into the screen, taking in what he can see of my surroundings. "Are you in the car? Are you waiting for someone?"

"Get to the point, will ya?"

"You're waiting for her? " His frown intensifies. "Are you still surveilling her?"

I stay quiet.

His jaw drops. "Oh, my buggering pisstard, you are still watching her. Does James know what you’re up to?

More to the point, does she know? Of course, not.

If she did, she’d be upset with you. You do know that, right?

Not that I'm finding fault with your caveman instincts. I’d be the same if she were mine?—"

"She isn’t."

He makes a disgusted noise. "Chill, mate. She’s marrying you . She wouldn’t have agreed if she didn’t think of herself as yours. So why are you trying to screw things up in such a spectacular fashion?"

With a sigh I sit back in my seat. "How about you keep your bollocks away from mine."

"Don’t like that picture, mate.” He cringes. “But what-fucking-ever; it’s your funeral."

“Fuck you too.” I shift in the seat to find a more comfortable position. “Why did you call? Was it to find out when the wedding is going to be."

There’s an uncomfortable silence. Then, “Gramps is on my case to get you to commit to a date." His voice is sheepish.

Knew it. "And since when do you do Arthur’s bidding?"

"Since I’m the only Davenport bro left to marry, and since the old geezer won’t let me access my trust fund or confirm me as the permanent CEO of a group company until I marry.

” He rolls his shoulders. “Ergo, it’s in my interest to stay in his good books.

With the rest of our brothers wanting to spend more time with their families, and you too busy setting up house, it’s natural for me to take on the role of keeping Arthur abreast of news. Which reminds me, when is it?”

“When is what?” I keep an eye on the entrance.

Not that I expect her to come out anytime soon, but no harm being vigilant.

"The marriage, dumbass. Have you set a date yet?”

I stay silent.

"It’s got to be within the month; Arthur specified that,” he warns.

Which is true. “She just agreed to marry me. I’m not hustling her for a date."

“Bet she wants you to do just that.”

"Huh?" I lower my chin. "How would you know that?"

"By keeping my eyes and ears open? This way, I know what to avoid. Trust me, women want you to commit to a wedding date. Makes them feel secure or some such shit."

"You’ve given this much thought, huh?" I frown.

"Only so I can do the exact opposite.” He nods sagely. “And avoid any matrimonial traps."

"That’s only until Arthur gets to you."

"Oh, I’m going in with no illusions. Love’s a lie people tell themselves to feel less alone.

I don’t believe in it—and I won’t pretend otherwise.

I’ll choose someone who understands the rules: clear terms, no expectations.

We do what needs to be done, the marriage gets consummated, and she stays in the background.

I get to continue with my life. That’s how I keep control. That’s how no one gets hurt.”

"Sounds like a plan… If you want to screw up your life.”

He grimaces. "And how’s yours going so far, hmm? You ended up choosing someone under duress, and now you’re embroiled in an affair-de-coeur. That’s a surefire way to screw up your life."

I stare. "Having feelings for the woman you’re going to marry would be considered normal, by most."

“And mess up your head and complicate your life? No, thank you.” He sets his jaw.

"I plan to steer clear of that malarkey. I’m never gonna fall in love, and I definitely will not have my emotions tied up with the woman I’m going to marry.

My wife will be there purely to make Arthur happy.

Which means, he’ll allow me access to my money. It’s a win for everyone."

Except for you. I’m not sure Brody understands the consequences of what he’s thinking of doing.

For someone who was courageous enough to lead successful missions as a Marine, he sure can be a coward when it comes to emotional matters. I fear, in trying to avoid feeling too deeply, he’s going to end up hurting himself. But that’s something he’s going to have to figure it out on his own.

"If you say so." I glance up and freeze. A second later, and I might have missed Fever leaving the hospital. I watch her disappear around the bend at the top of the road.

And this, after she told me she was called in to attend to an emergency. That doesn't seem like an emergency.

It’s official; I must have walked into an alternate reality. That’s the only explanation.

But seeing her very familiar back and swaying hips disappear around the corner tells me it’s not. I’m here, parked in a car, spying on her, and she left the hospital—after telling me she wouldn’t finish work until much later.

"I gotta go." I hang up, cutting off whatever he started to say, and ease the car forward.

I follow her at a distance, so as not to attract her attention. To my growing consternation she heads home.

I wait until she walks up the short garden path into her house. The door shuts behind her.

I park the car in the same parking spot I’d used to surveil her. I grip the wheel and watch the house. And watch, and watch. Around nine p.m. I message her:

Me: Are you home?

Fever: I am. Thank you for dropping me at the hospital.

Me: Hope you didn’t work too late?

She doesn’t reply.

I look up at the lights still shining in the windows on the upper level of the house.

Anger squeezes my belly. My rib cage constricts.

Why would she not tell me the truth? Maybe, the emergency resolved itself and she decided to come home?

But clearly, that’s not what happened. For some reason, she chose not tell me the real reason she wanted to leave early.

The more I think about it, the more the anger builds, until my muscles feel like they’re going to split my skin.

My jaw hurts from grinding my teeth. My fingers hurt from my unyielding grip on the steering wheel.

I release it, shake out my fingers, and draw in a few breaths.

Then, I push the door open and step out.

The cool night air should serve as a balm on my fevered skin. Instead, it exaggerates the contrast with the tectonic plates which seem to be re-calibrating themselves in my chest. On wooden legs, I walk up the garden path.

I reach the doorway to the house and ring the bell. I can hear the electronic chimes from inside, then footsteps sound. The door opens, and she’s standing in the doorway.

She’s taken down her hair and brushed it out, so it falls around her shoulders. She’s in a fresh pair of yoga pants and T-shirt, and she’s wearing her ballet flats. Is she going somewhere? Her features are a little flushed. Her gaze widens.

"Connor? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"

I nod. "Everything is okay." Not. I lean in, until my nose is only a few millimeters from hers. I draw in her sweet scent, and instantly, some of the churning miasma of emotions in my chest subsides. "I missed you. I had to come see you."

Her face softens. "I missed you, too." She raises her lips.

I press my mouth to hers. She throws her arms about my neck and presses those gorgeous curves into my body.

Any remaining tension fades away. Her taste, the way she clutches at me, the way she clings to me, the way she parts her lips to receive my tongue, and allows me to fuck her mouth like she belongs to me. She does belong to me. She’s mine.

I frame her cheek. "You’re mine," I growl. "Only mine."

She moans. I swallow down the sound.

"Say it," I order.

"Yours. I’m yours, Connor."

I begin to inch her inside the house. A few steps inside the doorway, she suddenly tears her mouth from mine. "Oh no, I need to get going."

"Now?" I glance at my watch. "It’s almost 9:30 p.m."

"Skylar called me when I was at the hospital. Karma West Sovrano’s atelier has agreed to do a private viewing so I can choose a wedding dress. This is the only availability they have within the month, so I agreed."

"Hmm." I look into her eyes, trying to gauge if she’s lying to me again. Just because she did earlier doesn’t mean she’ll do it again.

I’m sure there’s a reason behind why she said she had an emergency and then came home.

There must be an innocuous explanation for this.

But something inside of me insists that I confirm her statement. I curve my lips into a smile.

"Why don’t I come with you?"