Page 47 of The Wrong Husband (The Davenports #6)

Connor

From the moment I saw her looking like a vision in her wedding dress, to seeing the panic in her eyes, and now, the sense of inevitability coloring her words, I know every encounter we’ve had has been building up to this. Is this when she finally tells me what’s bothering her?

The fact that she’s brought it up on her own is a good sign. I know better than to interrupt her train of thought, so I stay quiet.

The silence stretches, not particularly uncomfortable. More like a holding pattern, much like our position in the air at the moment.

"I… I haven’t told you much about my past."

"What is it, Fever?" I take her hand, "You can tell me anything."

She blows out a gust of breath. "My ex-boyfriend… He worked— works —at the same hospital. We were together for almost a year. But then, things began to deteriorate. It was so difficult to find time together because of our schedules."

She raises a shoulder.

"We drifted apart. I knew our relationship was over, but it felt much easier to let things continue as is. That was a mistake I made. By the time I got around to telling him that things couldn’t continue in this fashion, it was too late."

I was right. She has an ex. The thought of her with anyone else flashes hot and ugly in my head. Jealousy claws at my insides.

I force it aside, lock it down, and pin my focus on her. "What do you mean?"

She blinks the tears out of her eyes. Jealousy squeezes my guts.

The fact that she was with someone else is to be expected.

She’s gorgeous and bright. Of course, she’s been with men before me.

Nevertheless, I want to wipe their memories from her head.

I will make sure she forgets them once we’re married.

She’s mine to claim. Mine to keep. Mine.

And I’ll make sure no other man will ever look at her in any other way than respectfully. No other man will look at her and not know she’s taken.

I manage to keep my caveman tendencies out of my facial expression, though maybe not completely, for she narrows her gaze on me. She must sense some of my thoughts, but I make sure to keep my expression clear of them.

"By the time I told him, he’d begun to think of our future together. He’d made plans. Wanted to introduce me to his family. He was very upset."

She bows her head.

"I should have broken up with him sooner. I shouldn’t have let things develop between us until he thought we had a chance to stay together."

"It’s not your fault. He should have sensed you were growing apart. If he’d been more focused, don’t you think he’d have noticed that things weren’t the way they should be?"

Her lips curve. "Thanks for being in my corner. But the truth is, both of us had equal responsibility to end the relationship before it got to the stage it did. I should have ended it earlier."

"So, when did you have this…conversation with him."

"The morning before I met you in the ER." She watches me closely.

"Ah, I see." I lean back. "So, it’s a recent breakup."

She nods. "You have to understand, I wasn’t looking for a relationship.

In fact, I was sure I would not be in another relationship for a while.

I had internally sworn off men, and then you walked into my ER.

" She wrings her hands. "I sensed the attraction with you right away, of course. I tried to resist. I didn’t want anything to do with you. I didn’t think it would come to anything, until?—"

"I told you James sent me to watch out for you because he was worried about you," I finish her sentence.

"With good reason, as it turns out." Her lips twist. "My oldest brother’s protective instincts, led him to suspect something wasn’t right.

And as it turns out, him sending you was going to help me move on.

" She gestures to the space between us. "Maybe not quite in the way I expected—or he did, for that matter—but it’s certainly put things in perspective. "

"Why didn’t you tell James about your ex?”

She tries to pull her hand from mine, but I hold onto it. After a few seconds she gives in and lets me weave my fingers through hers.

"Mainly, because I was so overwhelmed in the ER. Between managing my job and a relationship I wasn’t sure about, I didn’t have the time to speak to James or the rest of my family.”

She looks out the window and sighs. “That sounds like the excuse it is.” She rubs at her temple. "I think I, subconsciously, knew this relationship wasn’t going to last, so I didn’t introduce him to my family."

She swallows.

"I wanted to avoid questions from both my family and my work colleagues about a possible relationship, especially since we never even said anything to HR. I never mentioned Drew to my family or to my work colleagues. I’m getting married without inviting any of them.

" She lowers her chin to her chest. "I’m a terrible daughter, and sister. And a coward. I don’t want to explain myself to them, and I don’t want to face the fact that I didn’t tell them about having come close to marrying Drew, so?—"

"Hold on, you came close to marrying him?" Anger snaps its jaws into my chest. I feel like I’ve been hit by a windmill.

"Not me. But he thought we would get married." She hunches her shoulders. “I misjudged our relationship. When we broke up, he didn’t take it well." Her breath hitches. "It was very difficult."

"I’m sorry." I swallow down the animalistic instinct to grab her and hold her close, insisting that she never take any other man’s name on her lips. This is part of her past. I can’t take that away from her. And she’s confiding in me; that’s good. That’s healthy.

I need to keep my possessiveness in check.

The best way to help her is to let her speak and get this off her chest. And I do want to know about her past. As much as it might cause me to resent this man who spent any part of her life with her, it’s part of her story.

Her experience. What made her the woman she is today.

The kind of woman I respect and have developed feelings for.

I must give her the space she needs to share this part of herself with me, as well. "I truly am. The end of any relationship is like death of an entire future you built in your head. A kind of mourning."

She jerks her chin my direction. "A cascade of physiological responses—elevated cortisol, disrupted REM cycles, appetite suppression."

"Yeah, that’s grief." I’m glad I’m holding her hand in mine. Glad I can support her through the emotions she’s going through.

A tear slides down her cheek. I instantly brush it aside. My heart squeezes. It feels like someone stuck a burning knife in my chest.

"Don’t, Fever."

"Sorry," she chokes out, "I haven’t mentioned this to anyone else before."

Her confiding in me is a start—a sign I’m earning her trust. But the suspicion she’s still hiding something gnaws at me.

I lift our joined hands and brush my lips over her fingertips.

In time, when she’s ready, she’ll tell me the rest. Until then, I’ll be here for her, steady and unshakable.

“It means everything that you let me in like this.” I run my thumb over her wrist.

She shivers. Her gaze grows heavy. "You must think I’m crazy to cry over…something like this."

"Not at all. Your feelings matter. Never let anyone tell you otherwise or make you doubt their weight."

Some of the tension slips from her shoulders. "You’re pretty amazing, you know that?"

"I do, actually." I smirk, knowing full well that will break the tension that’s gripped the air between us, and it does.

She rolls her eyes. "And just as I was thinking you’re a real, genuine person, despite your ego."

"I am real. And genuine. And I’m your person." I cringe hearing my words. That was corny. But it seems to have done the trick, for she smiles widely.

"I’m glad you’re my person."

"Speaking of…" I pull a long rectangular box from my pocket. When I snap the lid open, the sunlight draws sparks of green from the stones in the platinum setting.

"Wow!" She stares at them. “Are those real?”

"What do you think?” I ask, amused.

"I mean, of course, they’re not imitation. But I’ve never seen anything this beautiful."

As if in a dream, she reaches out to touch them.

I snap the lid forward, so it traps her fingers.

"Ow!" She pulls her hand back, surprise flashing across her face—then she bursts out laughing.

"That was a bona fide Pretty Woman moment.”

I've never seen the movie. I did it to hear her laugh. Jesus. It’s like the pattering of raindrops on a windowpane. Like water bouncing off pebbles on its way downstream. I’d give anything to hear her laugh like that every day.

I flip open the lid. "Go on; touch it."

She reaches for it.

Once again, I shut the lid.

This time, she pulls her hand back before I can trap her fingers. “Connor!” She smacks my hand and giggles.

I burst out laughing. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. This time, I won’t stop you. In fact"—I place the box in her lap—"it’s yours."

She runs her fingers over the choker, and I watch as the stones react to her touch—warming, responding.

She lifts it to her throat, and something primitive uncoils inside me.

“Let me,” I say, rising before she can fasten it.

I walk around to stand behind her, carefully shifting her hair to the side. My fingertips graze the back of her neck—and I feel it. The jolt. The way her breath hitches, the way her skin draws heat from mine.

I fasten the clasp. “There. All done.”

I return to my seat, but my gaze stays locked on her.

“How does it look?” she asks, tilting her chin, fingers skimming the line of the necklace.

It hugs her neck perfectly. They way it clings to her makes it resemble a collar. It looks like a mark. My mark.

It looks like possession. Like promise. Like the ghost of my hand resting there, claiming her in every unspoken way.

“You look…” My voice roughens. “Incredible.”

I lean forward, until one of my knees slides between hers. I want to get closer. Always closer.

She swallows hard. I can see the shift in her breathing, the way her pupils dilate. Her heartbeat’s spiking—beautifully, uncontrollably. She’s fighting it, but it’s there. The draw. The hunger. The surrender.

“Do I?” she asks, voice low, turned thick with desire.

I’m immeasurably moved by her beauty. “You’re a vision. A goddess. A dream come to life.”

Sitting there with that necklace at her throat, eyes wide and shining like she doesn’t know how powerful she is. She’s everything I never dared want—and now that she’s mine, I’d burn the world to keep her safe.

“You chose me. You’ll never regret that.”

As if the universe agrees, the captain’s voice crackles overhead.

“Ten minutes to landing.”