“Unbelievable,” he says right before turning his head back in the toilet and going for what seems like round eleven.
After another half hour of him becoming great friends with the toilet, I help him to the bed where I gently tuck him in, place a trashcan next to him, and put lots of fluids on the nightstand. When I go to leave, he weakly says, “Where are you going?”
“I was going to let you rest.”
He holds out his hand. “Just lie here with me, please.”
It’s impossible for me to say no to him when he sounds that weak and pathetic.
I slip under the covers and sit up against the headboard while he rests his head on my lap. I gently stroke his hair and temple as he clings to me.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve become quite familiar with this man. Not emotionally familiar, because dragging personal information out of him seems next to impossible, but the touching . . . that’s what’s incredibly familiar. I don’t even think about it at this point. It comes naturally to me to kiss him, hold his hand, or strip naked when he demands it. And our working environment? It hasn’t even skipped a beat. He still gives me a list—now with one naughty thing at the bottom that I always love seeing—we still get work done, and we have no problem staying late to actually work, not fuck on his desk. We’ve been able to separate the two relationships—work and personal—which has been a huge weight off my shoulders. Was I worried that we wouldn’t be able to do it? Yes and no. I know I can stay focused and finish tasks when required. And Rath’s a driven, intelligent, and incredibly successful businessman. His success isn’t a fluke. He earned it. But since we introduced sex into our relationship, we have both been insatiable. He’s a god between—and outside of—the sheets. So, lack of self-control was a concern. But we’ve made it work. When he initially suggested the idea of getting married for my grandma, I said yes out of desperation. But as time has ticked by, I’ve become more conscious of how much more I want to learn about Rath Westin. He showed me many sides the other night at Grandma’s, and I liked every part I saw. The vomiting tonight . . . not so much.
“Thank you,” he says softly, “for taking care of me.”
I drag my thumb over his soft skin. “Of course. I can’t have my bridegroom puking by himself.”
He chuckles and squeezes me tighter. “I think it’s fair to say, the crab cakes are going to be a no-go.”
“I’ll make the call tomorrow. Maybe they’ll give us a discount because they gave you food poisoning.”
“We don’t need a discount,” he mumbles.
“Yes, well, Boss Man Rich Pants, some of us thrive off discounts. Just because you have money doesn’t mean you need to spend it frivolously. I will get us a discount, we deserve it, and I will have the chef write an apology card to you.”
“Not necessary.”
“Unless, do you think we should change the venue? I mean, do we really want to have the reception at a place that fed us poisoned crab cakes?”
“It’s too late to find somewhere else. Unless you want me to spend more money, then I can do that, but then that would be counterproductive to wanting to get a discount from the current place. Up to you, babe.”
I huff. “Well, looks like you’re feeling better.”
He nuzzles into my legs. “No, just had an extra breath of air. Don’t leave me.”
“Oh boy.” I stroke his bare back now, his corded muscles enticing me. He just threw up for an hour, Charlee, get a hold of yourself. “Are you one of those guys who gets sick and is incapable of doing anything?”
“Guilty,” he mutters into my leg. “Take care of me.”
“Oh, Rath, you’re going to be disappointed in our marriage if you think I’m going to baby you when you’re sick.”
“Baby me now, and I swear I’ll make it up to you.” He nuzzles his nose into my crotch and I laugh and push him away.
“Stop that.”
But he doesn’t.
“We’re talking explosive orgasms, the kind of orgasm you can only dream of. You know all the dirty things you fantasize about, I’ll make them come true.”
“All of them?” I ask.
He nods and roughly says, “All of them.”
Excited, I stroke his hair and say, “Can I get you anything else, you handsome, handsome man?”
Lightly chuckling he says, “Take your shirt off and let me lie on your chest. Your boobs will make me feel better.”
Why are men such horny idiots?
* * *
Rath stops in the middle of the aisle. Flowers surround us as he sticks his hands in his pockets and shakes his head in disbelief.
“What?” I ask, looking at a bundle of lavender. Rath has fully recovered from the crab cakes, he’s looking more handsome than ever with color back in his cheeks, and despite the minor setback, we’re back into wedding planning and picking out flowers today.
I know these are things I could do by myself, but I’m using these opportunities to spend more time with Rath, to get to know him on a deeper level.
So far . . . it hasn’t worked, but I am bound and determined to dig deep where this man is concerned.
He steps up to me, tips my chin, and says, “You look so goddamn beautiful today.” Carefully he leans in and moves his mouth across mine for a brief second before pulling away and sliding his hand into mine.
“Are you trying to woo me, Mr. Westin?”
“Would you have a problem with it if I were?”
I shake my head as we walk down the aisle and turn into the next. “No, but I would like you to woo me with your emotional side.”
“You want me to cry? Thought I was pretty emotional when I was throwing up those delicious crab cakes.”
“Not the whiney kind of emotional. Connect with me on a deeper level.”
He pauses in our walk and says, “We connect on a deep level.”
“Do we? Because I still don’t know that much about you, Rath.”
“What’s there to know?” He shrugs. “You know everything you need to know. The rest is just minor details that don’t matter.”
I’m about to counter his statement with the small things do matter to me when the lady who’s been helping us calls out. “Mr. Westin, Miss Cox, there you are.”
We turn to see her walking up with two bouquets. Both beautiful, both expensive looking.
“I quickly put two ideas together for you given your specifications of color and size.” She holds them out. “What do you think?”
Both are striking: brilliant greens with blush and ivory flowers. One cascades down over the stems, giving it an almost umbrella look while the other sticks out more at the sides.
“They’re both beautiful,” I say, taking one in hand while Rath takes the other.
“Thank you, and like you said, once you pick one you like for your bouquet, we can adjust the reception flowers to match. You said twenty people?”
“Around that. It’s just going to be one long table in a private room. We don’t need many flowers, but the venue does have some glass bowls and votives that hang from the ceiling that’s up against an old wood-covered wall. It would be lovely to have some of the flowers—”
Rath clears his throat. I glance up at him and watch him stick his finger in his ear and start to shake it while opening and closing his mouth.
“Are you okay?”
He makes this weird noise in the back of his throat and I swear, in the matter of seconds, I watch Rath’s breathtaking face and chiseled jaw balloon into something I’ve never seen before.
“Oh my God, Rath, are you having an allergic reaction?”
He hands the bouquet back to the lady and says, “Eucalyptus,” in a tight voice.
“Oh my God.” I toss the other bouquet at the lady, take Rath by the hand, and drag him through the florist shop to the corner store. I grab the first box of Benadryl I see, pop it open, and shove pills down Rath’s throat while uncapping a water and forcing him to drink.
From behind u
s, the pagoda owner asks, “Are you going to pay for those?”
Snapping around, I feel my devil horns poke out of my head when I say, “Yeah, let me make sure my fiancé doesn’t die from an allergic reaction first, you asshole.”
I turn back to Rath and grip his shoulders, in shock that he could have an allergic reaction this bad. “Can you breathe? Should I call an ambulance?”
He grips my hand. “I can breathe. Just really”—he clears his throat again—“fucking itchy.”
“Okay, give it more time and if it doesn’t clear up, we’ll take you to the hospital, okay?”
He nods. I take his hand in mine, keep him close while I pay the owner, who doesn’t seem to care whatsoever that Rath is having an allergic reaction—that’s NYC for you—and then we head out of the shop to fresh air.
I look at my watch and say, “We have that dance lesson. Let me call and cancel.”
He shakes his head. “No, we’re not cancelling. It’s important to your grandma.”
“Yes, but Rath, one eye is starting to swell shut, and you can’t dance like that.”
“Try me.” He attempts at smiling, but his lips don’t go far given how swollen his face is.
“Rath, we’re not dancing.”
“You might not be, but I’m going to.” He starts to walk toward a black car that’s not ours and I take his hand, pulling him in the other direction.
“That’s not our car.”
“Looked like it, are you sure?”
“Positive. Plus, with the way your eye is closing up, I think you would consider a police horse your car at this point.”
“Cheeky.”
“Seriously, Rath, let’s go to the emergency room, you look terrible.”
“And after I just called you beautiful.” He shakes his balloon of a head. “How’s that fair?”
“Please?” I practically beg.
But he doesn’t budge. “Let’s get some coffee; it will calm down.”
Unable to convince him, we get into his car—thankful we’re using his driver today—and get some coffee. Well, I get some coffee for the both of us and we drink it in the car while we wait outside of the dance studio.
“Is the swelling going down?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“It will.”
Facing him, one leg crossed over the other, I ask, “Has this happened to you before? Is that why you’re so calm?”
He nods and sips from his coffee. “Yeah. Two other times. I’ll be fine. It will just take a while for the swelling to go down. My mom used Benadryl when I was a kid too. I know it works.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, getting upset. “If you knew you were allergic to eucalyptus, you should have said something.”
“Didn’t really think about it.”
Growing more upset, I look out the window. “Should I ring your mom and find out what else I should look out for?” Silence. I look back at Rath. “Your mom and dad know about us, don’t they? I know you said there hasn’t been time to visit them, but they do know about . . . me . . . don’t they?”
“Not yet. I haven’t had a chance to call them. We’ll call them soon.”
“Rath, the wedding is only a few weeks away.” As I’ve spent time with Rath, I’ve learned his many expressions. The one I’m looking at now says, Don’t push me. I’m doing this my way. Yeah, I’ve seen that a few times. “Are you embarrassed about me? About them knowing me?”
“No, Charlee, don’t be stupid. It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal? I’m your fiancée, and you’ve asked me to date you. You’ve FaceTimed with my parents, shared meals with my grandma.”
He shrugs. “It’s not a big deal, Char—”
“Not a big deal? That you could have died from this allergic reaction? That I can’t call your mom and ask for more insight, because she’d have no idea who I am? I’m still a hidden secret at work . . . I should have met my future mother-in-law by now . . . I want to ask if she wants a corsage for her son’s wedding. This is exactly what I’m talking about, Rath. I need to know these things about you.”
“You need to know my allergies?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“Then what’s relevant to you?” I ask, my voice coming out sharp. “Because the only thing you seem to care about is what kind of underwear I’m wearing.”
“Hey.” His brow furrows. “You know I care about other things.”
Growing frustrated and really not in the mood for dancing, I unbuckle my seatbelt and say, “You know, I think I need a second, okay? I’m going to go to my apartment.”
“Charlee, wait, what the fuck is going on? You’re mad at me because I had an allergic reaction?”
“No, Rath, I’m not mad at you for that. I’m just irritated, and I don’t feel like getting into it right now, right before we’re supposed to dance together.” I motion to his face. “And I really don’t want to dance with you when you’re having an allergic reaction. You should take it easy. Have Patrick take you back to your apartment. I’ll take the subway to mine.”
“You’re not taking the subway.”
I open the door and say, “Before you, I took the subway all the time. I’ll be fine.”
I step out of the car and Rath calls out my name, but I shut the door before he can stop me and head to the corner of the street where there’s a subway entrance, coffee in hand, purse in the other.
I don’t see how that’s relevant.
How could he not see that being relevant? He could have easily harmed himself more than just a puffy face. He could have choked. He could have stopped breathing. Then what?
Shaking my head and muttering to myself, I take out my unused metro card, swipe it, and walk down the steps to the trains. I have no idea what trains will meet me, but what I do know is, a good ride to clear my mind will help.
* * *
Note to self: don’t storm off to the subway without any thought or ability to make a rational decision about where I’m going. I ended up riding the Q line all the way to Coney Island, an hour and fifteen minutes away. When I got back on the subway to Manhattan, we stopped on the rails for forty-five minutes because of engine problems. After another hour and fifteen minutes, I made it home.
At the time it was a good idea. Over three hours later, I’m riding the elevator to my apartment, starving, and ready to be out of these heels.
Honestly, I thought the ride was going to clear my mind, cool me down, but all it did was make me angrier and angrier. We’re only a few weeks out from the wedding. A few weeks before I say I do to my boss so my grandma can watch me walk down the aisle in her dress, and somewhere along the way, this entire thing has become so complicated. Will his parents even come to the wedding? If they don’t know about it now, will they actually be available? And wouldn’t Julia tell them about me, if her brother hasn’t? Why the radio silence?
Does he actually plan to go through with the wedding?
We’re dating . . .
We’re boss and assistant . . . and fiancée and fiancé.
We’re sexual maniacs—because, yes, he’s an incredible lover. But what do we know about each other?
What do I know about him?
I have no idea what I’m supposed to feel at this point.
He said we’re more than just fucking . . . but is that what all his other relationships have been? Honesty, I have no clue because he’s never talked about them. I know he had a relationship with his assistant before and that’s pretty much it. What about college? Any serious girlfriends there? Am I the only girl he’s fake proposed to before? Has he ever been in love?
If we were just casually doing this fake marriage thing, I wouldn’t be asking these questions, but we’re dating. We’re just not going through the motions, we’re actually connected to one another, so why won’t he talk?
When the elevator doors part, I stomp toward my apartment, unlock the door, and sling it open, only
to find my grandma and Rath sitting at the counter bar together, looking worried and stressed.
“Jesus fuck,” Rath says, standing from his chair and coming toward me. He scoops me up in his arms and holds on to me tightly. His face is back to normal, his suit jacket is off, and his sleeves are rolled up. “You scared us.”
I push him away and the hurt look on his face doesn’t go unnoticed. “I got stuck on the subway, on the way home from Coney Island. I’m fine.”
“You left your phone in my car. You left before I could give it back to you.”
Damn it. I was too busy reading on my Kindle to even address my phone. It’s because I didn’t want to see any correspondence from Rath. I wanted time to myself, and boy, did I get it.
Grandma comes up behind him and pats him on the back. “Why are you ditching your fiancé to go to Coney Island?”
“Because we had a kerfuffle,” I say, raising my chin. “And honestly, I didn’t want to look at him anymore. I needed space.”
“That’s not how you solve kerfuffles and you know it,” my grandma says. “We face them head-on and talk about them.”
“Yeah, well, I wanted my moment, and if you’ll excuse me, I want another one.” I slip out of my shoes, leave them in the entryway, and take off toward my room. There’s no question he won’t follow me. What I don’t want is to have a conversation with him in front of my grandma, especially when I know she was moving a little slower this morning. I don’t want to worry her.
I leave my bedroom door open and start unzipping my dress, knowing he’ll be here any second.
And just as the dress slips off my body and to the floor, Rath pushes through the door and shuts it. His eyes immediately eat me up as he closes the distance between us.
His hands are purposeful on my hips before I can blink, and his lips are smashing against mine before I take my next breath.
Caught off guard, I linger for a few seconds, letting him take my mouth how he wants but once realization hits me that I’m supposed to be mad at this man, I push away.
Turning toward my dresser, I fish out a pair of silk shorts and a matching nighty top. Right in front of him, I strip. Once naked, I quickly glance at him and see how much darker and more sinister his eyes are.
Boss Man Bridegroom Page 31