Page 38 of The Wrong Husband (The Davenports #6)
Phoenix
I glance sideways at him as we drive back from the atelier. Connor wanted to pay for the dress, but I told him I wanted to do it. He didn’t protest. Maybe, it was because of the conversation we had about my independence?
I tell myself I’m relieved Connor’s okay with me keeping my place. That he didn’t protest. Didn’t push. But the truth is that a part of me wishes he had.
Wishes he insisted I don’t need it anymore. That I belong with him now—fully, completely. That there's no need for a fallback plan.
Maybe I wanted him to stake a claim. To tell me I'm his, and I don’t need a place of my own because I belong with him.
Instead, he nodded, said he understood—and that hurt more than I expected.
And yet— That very calmness, that quiet confidence, tells me this man isn’t trying to control me. He respects my need for independence.
And that dissolves the last of my doubts about this marriage.
Yes, we met under the strangest of circumstances. Yes, he crossed lines watching me from afar. But the fact that he’s secure enough to let me keep my place, the way he lets me choose. It makes me see him differently.
It makes me want to tell him the real reason behind my ask. That it’s where Drew lives. He’ll be gone without the month, so it’s only fair to give him that time to find another place.
Besides, I'm mostly at the hospital. With our schedules, I won’t be home at the same time as him. It’s not as if I'm trying to punish him for falling in love with me. That's just cruel.
But I can’t tell Connor that; it would piss him off. And then, the fact that I never mentioned Drew to him, at all. But then, he never asked about my past, either, so it’s only lying by omission, really… Which isn't too bad. Is it?
Then again, he hasn’t volunteered information about his past, either.
I never should have agreed to Drew moving in with me. I knew I wasn’t in love with him… But also, I didn’t have a concrete reason to say no.
I allowed myself to be swept up in the moment. And when we started drifting apart, I didn’t have the courage to ask him to leave.
I knew, by then, that I didn’t really love him. But I didn’t have the heart to tell him that.
I didn’t want to hurt Drew. So, I kept putting off having the conversation with him, even though we’d started leading separate lives while we lived under the same roof. And by the time I broached the topic with Drew, it was too late.
Connor eases the car into the parking bay next to a converted warehouse. I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn’t realize we’d reached our destination.
I look around. “Where are we?”
“Shoreditch.” He mentions the name of a very expensive, artsy and chaotic area of London which is a hotspot for creatives and entrepreneurs. It’s gritty, edgy, and the street-art-meets-serious-money vibe suits him.
He gets out of the car, then walks around and opens the door for me. When I step out, he grabs the garment bag with my wedding dress from the back of the car.
He leads me to the doorway, presses his thumbprint, then scans his eye at the panel set into the side.
When the door swings open silently, I gape. That was unexpected. It’s a lot of security, but I suppose, I shouldn’t be surprised. He did say he’s an international man of mystery.
He steps in, then glances at me over his shoulder. "I’ve registered your name in the system. Once you add your thumbprint and iris scan, you can come and go as you please."
I follow him to the reception desk with the porter and take care of the biometrics. "Welcome to Lion Mills, Miss." The balding, chubby-cheeked porter smiles. "I’m Alfred."
"Alfred?" I ask bemused.
He beams. "Just like Batman’s valet, Miss Hamilton."
He’s so friendly, I can’t help smiling back. "No doubt, you’re more distinguished.”
Alfred’s smile widens until his eyes seem to disappear. "Anything you need, feel free to call down to me, Miss."
"Soon to be Missus, actually," Connor interrupts.
“Oh!” Alfred’s face breaks into a grin. “Congratulations, Miss. And sir. And if I may say so—about bloody time.”
He tips his head toward Connor, eyes twinkling. “When you meet the woman of your dreams, you don’t muck about.”
Then, with a sincerity that softens his rough edges, he brings his fingers together in front of him—a quaint, almost reverent gesture that somehow suits him perfectly.
“Truly. I couldn’t be happier for the both of you.”
"Thank you." Connor wraps his arm about my waist and pulls me closer.
I shoot him a glance to find he’s watching me with a possessive look in his eyes.
One which makes my cheeks flush. Our gazes meet, and the air between us spikes with heat.
Unsaid emotions tremble in the space between us, turning it into a living, breathing thing which connects us and snaps us closer.
I find myself swaying toward him, when Alfred clears his throat.
I blink and turn to him. "Thank you for the warm welcome," I say softly.
"Of course, Miss." He guides us to the elevator.
"Call me Phoenix, please."
"Of course, Miss Hamilton." The expression on his face indicates he has no intention of calling me anything other than Miss, but that he’s happy to humor me into thinking otherwise.
He reaches the elevator, stabs the button to summon the car, then turns to me.
"The Lion Mills building formerly housed cotton, silk, and wool manufacturing facilities. Now, the repurposed structure offers loft-like apartments that pay tribute to the site’s storied past."
"It’s gorgeous." I glance around the reception area with its arched ceilings and wooden floors, which I swear, must be original.
"We have a shared courtyard garden at the back, but there are also a number of nearby green spaces, including Haggerston Park, Victoria Park, and London Fields. The flat is also conveniently located less than a mile from Broadway Market, as well as the Columbia Road Flower Market."
"The flower market?" I clap my hands. "It’s one of my favorite parts of London. Of course, I’ll have to commute a little more to get to the hospital, but this building has so much character." I look around again. "I’m sure it will be worth it."
"Hospital, ma’am?" Alfred frowns. "Is everything okay?"
"Oh, yes, of course." I wave my hand in the air.
Before I can clarify further, Connor jumps in with, "My wife-to-be is a brilliant ER doctor. In fact, she saved my life."
"That might be an exaggeration." I flush a little more.
The pride in his voice is evident, and it does funny things to my insides.
"No exaggeration when I say you’re simply in your element in the ER. I’ve never seen anything sexier than when you’re in your scrubs, taking charge of the chaos, and taking care of patients.” His eyes shine.
"Oh." My chest swells.
Could he be more perfect? The fact that he sees me as not just a woman who’s malleable to his commands, but as someone who’s a thinking human able to make decisions, and that he respects my calling, makes me wonder if he’s real.
He’s so different from Drew, who never lost an opportunity to rub in the fact that he was a more experienced medical professional than I was. I realize now, it was his insecurity that made him put me down in front of the hospital staff every chance he got.
Drew came from an impoverished background, went to medical school on a scholarship, and is brilliant at his job. In comparison, I felt I wasn’t good enough at my job. He took full advantage of that. Especially since, I never told him off.
Connor, though… The way he speaks about me—with that quiet certainty, that unwavering confidence in my skills.
It anchors me. His pride in the work I do, in who I am as a trauma specialist, seeps under my skin and settles somewhere deep.
It makes me stand taller. It makes me believe I’m more than just capable—I’m exceptional.
He makes me feel good about being me. He makes me feel complete.
I bite my lower lip. Connor’s gaze drops there.
His blue eyes turn silver. His arm around my waist tightens.
I tip my chin up and sway toward him. The elevator car arrives, and the doors slide open.
I look away, and with my head spinning from the intensity of our connection, follow him inside. He nods in Alfred’s direction.
"Thanks, Al. Make sure you watch out for her."
He half bows. "Goes without saying, sir." His plummy tones imply he’s outraged that Connor felt it necessary to remind him about this.
As soon as the doors slide shut, Connor places his thumb into the biometric sensor next to the panel of buttons. The P on the top of the panel lights up. Of course, he has the penthouse. Then, he pushes me into the wall and takes my mouth. I sigh, allowing him to thrust his tongue between my lips.
He fucks my mouth with his tongue, miming the way he’ll take my pussy.
I have no doubt; he’ll be as ruthless. As single-minded. So focused, it’ll seem like he’s putting his entire body behind each plunge, each drive into my body. He’d wring pleasure from my pussy, my skin, and from deep within my cells.
When he tears his mouth from mine, my breath comes in pants. My face feels hot, my breasts swollen, and sweat beads my forehead. The heat of his body crowds me, making me feel like I’ve plunged into a dry sauna. My entire body feels boneless, and I’m holding onto his arms for support.
"Wow." I swallow. "That was…something."
His lips curl in a pleased smirk, then he steps back, hands the dress over to me, before sweeping me up into his arms.
"Whoa, what—" Before I can say anything more, the doors to the elevator slide open.
He steps out directly into his apartment and sets my feet on the floor. I look around and gasp in delight.
Under my feet is what seems to be original wood flooring, faded with age and dripping with character. A few steps take us directly into the heart of the loft, a seamless transition from steel-and-glass precision to carefully curated opulence.