Page 57 of The Wrong Husband (The Davenports #6)

Connor

"I still think we should have stayed on our honeymoon." I button up my shirt in front of the mirror in the closet.

"We’re doing the right thing. If we didn’t come, and if something were to happen to your grandfather, you’d always regret it."

She’s right, I suppose.

"Nothing’s going to happen to that old bastard. He loves attention, is all."

It’s a very domestic situation—I’ve just showered and am getting dressed on my side of the closet in front of the mirror with my back to her. I watch her reflection as she picks out the clothes, she needs from her side of the closet.

"He’s old. Any setback to his health should be treated seriously," she admonishes me, then reaches up to grab a dress. "Regardless of the differences between the two of you, he’s still family." She turns to me and stares at the strip of skin exposed by the lapels of my shirt in the mirror.

Then she meets my gaze, realizes I caught her staring, flushes, and glances away.

Considering everything I’ve done to her body, it’s cute that she’s blushing because she’s seeing me getting dressed.

She has no idea how much I enjoy having her eyes on me.

To prove a point, I begin to roll up the cuffs of my shirt.

She peeks at me from the corners of her eyes, and her gaze widens.

She seems entranced by my actions and unable to tear her gaze away from my exposed forearms. Just to test out my theory, I raise my hand and run it through my hair, finger combing back the damp hair on my head.

It makes my biceps bulge and stretches the shirt across my chest. She swallows.

I stifle a smile. Yes, I’m using my body to distract her, and damn, if that doesn’t feel brilliant. The fact that I can stop her in her tracks and make her forget what she’s saying is top-notch.

"You were saying?" I prompt her.

"Uh, so uh, I was saying that—" She shakes her head. "That— It doesn’t matter." She grabs underwear from the drawer before she turns and scurries off.

I called ahead and asked for a personal shopper to stock the closet with enough clothes to tide her over until she’s had a chance to move her clothes over from her place.

Once we reached London, I asked Brody to drop us off at my place so we could shower and change into a fresh pair of clothes before meeting him and the rest of the family at Arthur’s place for an early dinner.

Turns out, Arthur recovered enough to be discharged from the hospital. But in honor of our return, he decided to host a dinner for us. Damn, that was one quick recovery.

Perhaps he really was unwell, but it's typical of the old man to milk any occasion for sympathy and use it as an excuse to get the family together.

Tucking my shirt into the waistband of my pants, I follow her out of the closet.

I walk across the floor of our bedroom to the en suite. The shower’s already running. I can see the outline of her curvy body through the clear glass of the shower cubicle. I pull the door to the cubicle open and position myself at the entrance.

She looks over her shoulder and when she sees me, her mouth falls open. "I’m showering," she says over the sound of the water.

"I’m very aware of that." I allow myself to follow the flow of the water down her back, over the flare of her spectacular hips and her thick thighs.

"Stop," she says in a breathless voice.

"Can’t I admire how beautiful my wife is?" I fold my arms across my chest and lean a shoulder against the doorframe.

She hesitates.

"We’re going to be late. You’d better hurry. Don’t want to keep the family waiting, do you?"

Truthfully, asking Brody to drop us off at home so we could change was my way of delaying things. I'm not in any hurry to see my family. A day and a half are nothing in terms of everything I want to do to my wife. I barely whetted my appetite in all the ways I mean to have her.

I’m just getting to know her body and what she loves, just beginning to win her trust.

She turns back to the shower and quickly soaps herself. I’m distracted by the foam sliding over her luscious body. My phone vibrates. I ignore it. It vibrates with another message, so I reluctantly pull it from my pocket and take a look.

It’s the third one from Save the Kids. Apparently, donating money comes with a new set of expectations.

It’s my responsibility to ensure the money is spent properly.

With a final glance at her reaching for the towel to dry herself off, I turn and head out into the bedroom.

Sitting on the bed, I exchange a flurry of messages with the CEO of the charity.

When she emerges ten minutes later, I’m just wrapping up my conversation. I look up to find she’s already dressed and has even dried her hair.

"You’re quick," I say in surprise.

"Comes from being a doctor and having to always get dressed in record time." Then she nods toward my phone. "Everything okay?"

"It is now." I’m aware there’s a thread of lust running through my voice. And there’s heat in my gaze.

She tosses her head. "Is that all you can think of?"

"When my wife’s standing there looking like a siren, I think I can be forgiven for having a one-track mind."

She blushes, a pleased look in her eyes. Then she grows serious. "But really, is everything okay? I saw you frowning at the phone."

I blow out a breath and roll my shoulders. This isn’t a mission, so I can share the highlights with her.

She is my wife. And I want to start the new relationship by being as open as possible with her. Perhaps, that will help in her being open with me, too?

"Turns out, there’s been a coup in a country where Save the Kids operates. It’s led to a border lockdown. Their convoy carrying life-saving medication is being detained. They’ve also been taken as prisoners.”

“Oh, no,” she gasps.

“They need help mediating the release of both."

"So, they want you to help with the negotiations?"

I nod slowly. "My connections within MI5 give me unique leverage."

She wrinkles her forehead. "It sounds serious."

"Not more than usual."

She tilts her head. "Are you still taking on undercover assignments?"

"Do you not want me to?"

She blinks. "Would you stop if I asked you to?"

"After this one, yes."

"Oh." Her jaw drops. "You’d do that…for me?"

I rise to my feet and pocket my phone, then walk over to her. "The last thing I want is for you to worry when I’m gone. When I realized I was serious about us getting married, I told the MI5 that I was retiring.”

"So, no more undercover assignments?" Relief fills her eyes, and I know, I made the right decision.

"You experience enough pressure in the ER. I don’t want to add to that. I don’t want you to worry about me, in addition to everything else. I don’t want to spend any more time in the field. Besides, taking on dangerous missions has lost its appeal. It’s why I’m retiring from the MI5.”

“You are?” Her eyes grow wide.

I nod. “I don’t want to be away from you. After this last mission for the charity, which happens to be a personal one—and the only reason I’m doing it is because it’s for a good cause—I won’t be taking on others."

She swallows and seems on the verge of crying.

My chest tightens, "Hey, what’s wrong?"

"I don’t deserve you." She looks away. "I’m not sure I deserve this kind of empathy from you."

"What are you talking about? You’re my wife. Of course, I’ll make sure your life is as stress-free as possible."

She takes my hand between her much smaller ones, then brings it to her mouth and kisses my knuckles. "You’re a good man."

"Except when I’m bad." I curl my lips.

She rolls her eyes. "That ego of yours! Unfortunately, you have the goods to back it up, so I can’t begrudge you that."

"Is that right?" I turn her around and slap her butt. "Come on, let’s get going before Brody calls, wondering where we are."

“You shouldn’t have cut short your honeymoon, but…” Arthur calls out from his armchair in front of the fire. His voice is strong, his tone amused as he looks from me to my wife, then back at me. A smile curves his lips. “Seeing the two of you married makes me feel stronger.”

He’s seated in his usual place in the armchair by the fireplace. Tiny is on the floor next to him. Imelda is on the settee to his left. As soon as she sees us near the doorway, she rises to her feet and walks toward us with arms outstretched.

“Congratulations!” She hugs Phe. “I am so happy for the both of you. And I’m so sorry you had to cut your honeymoon short.

I’d say you shouldn’t have, except—” Imelda steps back and takes my hand in hers.

“I know Arthur is very happy to see the two of you. And I suppose, I’m old enough to be selfish and know that seeing the two of you has, possibly, extended his life span. ”

“Are you okay?” I search Imelda’s features and see the dark circles under her eyes.

The impact of someone being sick is mostly borne by those closest to them.

Imelda always seems so strong and confident; it’s easy to forget that Arthur’s brush with the Big C would have impacted her more than the rest of us.

Probably more than Arthur himself. The old geezer doesn’t deserve a woman like her being at his side.

“I’m fine.” She pastes a smile on her face that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I admit, when he collapsed, I was worried; but thankfully, he’s better now. And happy to be the center of attention.”

She looks over her shoulder. I follow her line of sight to where my family is seated on chairs and sofas around Arthur.

Nathan holds Skylar’s hand. He’s saying something that Arthur is listening to with great attention.

Brody leans back in an armchair beside Nathan’s. He’s drumming his fingers on the armrest. His body language says he’d rather be somewhere else, but his features wear a look of patience. He, too, is humoring Gramps.

James walks over to join us. He was at the far end of the room talking to Adrian Sovrano and Toren Whittington, who seem to have joined the ranks of our family.