He taps at his keyboard. “Speaking of numbers, I saw you used the credit card I gave you.”
I gulp. “I’m sorry, it’s just so many of my clothes got taken away and-”
“Whoa, whoa. I wasn’t chastising. You’re allowed to use it. That’s why I- Wait. What do you mean your clothes got taken away?”
Double crap. Now I have to explain how Dad talked down to me like I was a simpleton? Tried to gaslight me so it seemed as if I was the one who was crazy for questioning why he was doing this? No thanks, I’ll pass.
Except, I can’t sweep this under the rug. I owe Archer an explanation, not only because I’m now living in his home thanks to his goodwill, but because he’s my husband. We’re supposed to be a team.
I sigh and sit on the edge of his desk, explaining everything that happened at my apartment a week ago, a wrinkle between his brows forming as I continue on.
“Does he regularly question your spending?”
“No. I have a lot of designer stuff, but that’s because he encouraged me to get those things. He wants me to look a certain way in public.”
“I get it.” And from the expression on his face, he does. His father has probably hounded him about the same thing. “Has he ever had money problems before?”
“What? No.” Dad’s always been rich.
“Then why’s he selling off your possessions? Real estate I can see, but used clothes?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t answer when I asked.”
He stares at me, but I get the sense his gaze is internally focused. “Hmm,” he finally says.
Does he suspect my father of something? That’s ridiculous. His company is doing great. It’s the whole reason Harold Bishop wanted to buy it to begin with. “What are you thinking?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“No, really.”
He holds his hands out in front of him in a don’t shoot the messenger gesture. “Making you move out so fast? Selling your clothes? It’s just weird is all. But there’s nothing in his recent financial history to make me suspect anything. No major debts at least. He owns a majority stock in Montague Media, has the two apartments here in Manhattan, and the house in Brooklyn.”
A house in Brooklyn? Why does he have a house there?
“A red flag like that is just something we usually look for when considering acquiring a company. Not only how the business itself is doing, but what the financial situation is like of the majority owner. If they’re selling it because of money troubles, Dad will lowball them on the price.”
“My dad has never mentioned anything about financial difficulties. But he doesn’t talk to me about any of that stuff.” Doesn’t talk to me at all normally.
“Do you have a trust fund? Has he tried to access that too?”
“No, he never set one up. He-” I pause, something occurring to me. “I think he’s always liked me being reliant on him. He holds it over my head if I need something.” Wow, how has it taken me this long to make that connection?
A flash of pity crosses over his face before it disappears. “Dad would always do the same thing with Gabriel to try and keep him in line. Look how that worked out.”
He leans back in his chair, taking a sip of the drink I brought him.
Right. That’s what I’m supposed to be here for. Not talking about my dad, the least sexy thing in the world.
“You know, if you’re tense from working, I could give you another massage.”
He looks up at me, and I swear the blue of his eyes burns bright for a moment. “Yeah, okay.”
Is it my imagination or did his shoulders just tighten more?
I scoot off the desk and walk behind him, trailing my fingers up his arm, his bicep thick with muscle. I guess it’d have to be if he spends an hour working out every morning, though.
“Would you mind if I used your home gym?” Bishop Plaza has one, but the whole point is to be in there with him.
I lay my hands on his shoulders, squeezing, the slight sound of contentment he makes bringing a smile to my lips.
“Sure.” The heavy muscles of his upper back release as I begin to massage him, enjoying the opportunity to touch him so freely. “I use it from six to seven in the morning.”
Perfect. Now I just have to wake up that early.
My right hand works the tightness out of his neck, his head bending low to aid me.
“Have you had professional training for this?”
“No,” I laugh. “It’s just instinct.”
He groans as I return my attention to his shoulders, my belly dipping pleasantly in response to the deep sound. I’m fairly sure it’s simply reactive on his part, but I can’t help how it affects me.
The feel of him warm under my hands, even through his dress shirt. The breadth of his shoulders, as powerful physically as he is in the boardroom. The musk of his cologne, masculine and sensual.
I sigh, wishing I could hug him from behind, run my palms over his chest, surrender to the hold he has over me.
Does he feel any kind of attraction toward me? That kiss last night seemed to indicate so, but what if that was merely an involuntary response? Not because of me specifically, but something biological, solely because he’s a man and I’m a woman?
And would I really want to know if it was?
I continue massaging his shoulders until my hands ache and have to stop. Maybe I do need professional training. I step out from behind him, flexing my fingers to relieve the pressure. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
His eyes flutter open, seeming to come out of a trance. “Yeah, okay.”
I walk to the door, turning back one last time to catch his gaze on me.
No matter the reason he’s looking at me, I’ll take it.
Chapter Nine
Archer
One more mile. Just one more mile. Then arms for ten minutes, abs for five, shower and breakfast, preparing for the meeting with Accounting tomorrow-
The door to my home gym opens and Serena walks in, form fitting leggings and a crop top gracing her lithe body.
“Good morning,” she says, covering her mouth to contain a yawn.
What is she doing here? I told her I’d be in here until seven. Wait, she didn’t take that as an invitation, did she?
I nod at her, too winded from my pace on the treadmill to comfortably talk.
“Can I use one of your mats?”
I gesture to the corner where I keep them, and she picks the thickest one, rolling it out in the center of the room. And after that, she starts… stretching. Ass in the air, directly toward me, touching her toes. Swaying side to side, loosening her hamstrings and calves, the action like a beacon to my unwitting eyes.
I lower my speed, half afraid I’ll trip over my feet with the added distraction.
“Do you ever do yoga?” she asks, transitioning up into some kind of backbend so I can see down her shirt, my shorts tightening in response.
Oh, it’s yoga she’s doing? I assumed she was trying to torture me.
I clear my throat, no idea how my voice will sound. “No.”
“Just cardio and lifting weights?”
“Yeah.”
I glance down at the readout on the treadmill. Three quarters of a mile to go.
“If you ever wanted to learn, I could teach you.”
So she can put her hands on me, guiding me into the correct position? Those hands are already dangerous enough on my shoulders and neck at night. If I invite her to touch other places… no, not a good idea.
She moves into a plank position, then up into some kind of upside down V. What is that called - a downward dog? It definitely involves her pert ass facing me again.
I’m unable to look away as she continues, her body flowing through the poses, seemingly oblivious to me, and it’s not until my treadmill beeps at me that I realize how much time has passed, so caught up in watching her.
It’s okay to watch, though, right? She wouldn’t have done all this in fr
ont of me if she didn’t want me to see. Not that she asked me to check out her ass…
Fuck, this is too confusing.
I step off the treadmill, not bothering to cool down. “I’m taking a shower.”
“Okay. Thanks for letting me join you.”
I swear to God she wiggles as I leave, and I speed down the hallway to my room, not wanting Lori to spot me from the kitchen. Or more specifically, my shorts.
My hard-on bobs in front of me as I strip down in the bathroom, waiting for the shower to heat, and I deliberately avoid it as I get in and wash the sweat off me.
But I can’t get the image of Serena bending over out of my head. Her ass pressed against my front, glancing over her shoulder with sultry eyes, begging me to take her. Gripping her hips, sinking into her wet heat, a low moan issuing from her as I hold her in place, giving her-
No, what the fuck am I thinking? I let go of my cock, not even realizing what I was doing, and shut the water off, bracing a hand against the tile. My chest pumps harshly, air suddenly hard to get in, and I take in a long inhale, exhaling slowly. But no matter what breathing exercises I do, my erection won’t go down. And I can’t go out there like this. Not with two women in the house, one of which I’m lusting after, apparently.
I cautiously grip myself, biting my lip to contain the moan that wants to escape at first contact. Did that kiss the other night addle my brain? Serena’s playing a part, the same as I am. A happy couple in love. But in reality, we know nothing about one another.
That doesn’t seem to matter to my dick, though, excited thinking about her once again, and I give in to the urge, only so I don’t go back out there for breakfast with a raging hard-on and embarrass myself.
She visited my office last night, this time in a nightie that technically covered all the important bits, but designed to leave you wanting more. Or maybe it was just me feeling that way. Something about her touch both lit me up inside and soothed me. How is it possible to have two contradictory reactions?
Her caresses gentle and assured, her sweet breaths on the back of my neck, perfume filling my nose. Those delicate hands stroking my shoulders…
What else could she stroke?
My movements speed up, lost in it now, remembering those photos we took kissing. I still can’t believe how real they’d looked. Two lovers caught in a private moment, wanting each other. Her lips soft, waist trim as I gripped it tight. Her response had been so genuine, her mouth eagerly meeting mine, the brief touch of her tongue exhilarating.
It was only for pretend, right? Just to get the shot. Then why did it feel so real?
And why do I want it again?
I groan loudly, too far gone to care at this point, stroking myself madly, frantically, wishing it was her touching me. This enigmatic woman that’s barrelled into my life, somehow both sweet and seductive, innocently tempting me.
Serena. My wife.
I gasp as I come, jetting on the shower tile, breath sawing in and out, shame immediately washing over me. If she knew I was thinking of her like this, doing this to thoughts of her, she’d be shocked. Horrified. Mortified.
I’m mortified. I shouldn’t have done it. Shouldn’t have opened this door that seems somehow… dangerous in where it may lead. She deserves my respect, not this primitive slavering over her.
I can’t help my instinctive reaction to her, but I can control it at least. This won’t be happening again.
I clean up and dry off, dressing for the day, glad now I cut my workout short since my shower took so long. When I walk into the kitchen, Serena’s already at the counter eating an omelet, a matching plate next to her for me.
I avoid her eye, sitting down and shoveling the eggs in.
“Hungry?” Lori asks, washing out the pan in the sink.
I grunt, my mouth too full to respond. Serena’s floral scent teases me once again, to the point where I’m wondering if I’m imagining it. I doubt she doused herself in perfume after waking just to exercise.
It’s all in my head. Her response to the kiss. This attraction. We have a job to do, the public to convince. Just because there’s a Mr. and Mrs. in front of our names doesn’t mean there’s anything more between us.
“What do you have planned today?” Serena asks, wiping at those luscious lips with a napkin.
No. Not luscious. Just normal lips.
“Work.”
My one word answer doesn’t seem to deter her, though. “Well, if you’re free later, I’ll be at the animal shelter. It could be a good photo op. Exposure for us and the animals.”
“I’ll think about it,” I mumble, clearing my plate in record time and placing it in the sink.
The faint question, “What’s up his butt?” from Lori echoes in my ears as I hightail it to my office, shutting the door firmly. Nothing’s up my butt. I just need to concentrate.
But I can’t do that when all I’m envisioning is Serena perching on the edge of my desk, those slim thighs just within reach. Her standing behind my chair, smoothing her hands over my back, a comforting weight on my shoulders that incited as much as it soothed.
Damn it. When did I start waxing poetic? I didn’t do that a week ago.
I should be continuing my research on Greg Montague’s financial history. He downgraded from a ten million dollar condo earlier in the year to one valued at two million, but that isn’t necessarily suspicious by itself. And from the pictures online, Serena’s condo was nice, but won’t net him a fortune in its sale. And why does he need the house in Brooklyn? What’s going on there?
As far as records go, there are no outstanding loans, nothing crazy on his credit report, no reason to suspect anything.
But that tingle on the back of my neck hearing Serena describe the situation last night… it doesn’t add up. Why the hell is he selling off his daughter’s things? She said they’ve always gotten along civilly, as long as she did what he asked. And she did. She married into the Bishop family.
But the reason he had her do that to begin with… Dad said Greg wanted our connections. As an upwardly mobile thing or something else? Financial protection, perhaps?
But from what?
I push it out of my mind with no new information to go on and get started on preparing for the upcoming week, but I’m only an hour in before I’m interrupted by an email from Angelina going on about high engagement in our last post and striking while the iron’s hot. Basically, what it boils down to is taking more lovey-dovey photos with Serena.
I run my hands through my hair, tugging at the strands. Logically, I know I need to head down to that animal shelter. Like she said, it’s the perfect photo op. But after my slip-up in the shower, spending time with her seems… risky.
Why?
I don’t know. It just does.
What do you think will happen?
Nothing. We’ll walk a dog, snap a photo, and that’ll be it.
Then why are you worried?
Whose side are you on anyway?
I shut my laptop and stand, muttering to myself as I text James to come pick me up in fifteen.
I haven’t talked to myself like this since-
Jesus Christ, can my brain give it a rest? Do I have no control over my thoughts today?
I breathe deeply on the way to the shelter, completely calm by the time I arrive. I’ll take a photo and leave. Quick and painless. No need to get all worked up.
A bell rings over the door as I enter, a pair of women stopping their conversation as they look over at me.
“Hi, is-”
“She’s in there,” one of them interrupts with a knowing smile, pointing at a back area. “I’ll get her for you.”
The other woman eyes me carefully, not hostile by any means, but like she’s taking my measure. “How’s newlywed life treating you?”
“Well.”
“Good.” She sticks her hand out over the counter and I shake it. “I’m Wendy, the executive director here.”
I return my hands to my pocket
s, wondering how long it’ll take Serena to get out here. “Nice to meet you.”
“You married an amazing woman. She does a lot of good around here. Everyone loves her.”
I stay silent, sensing she’s not finished with whatever it is she wants to say.
“It hurt to see her so upset over the last month after getting engaged to your brother. Wouldn’t talk to any of us about it. And now she’s back to her usual self, married to you instead. Bit of a wild turn of events. Can you shed any light on the situation?”
Underneath the nosiness, there’s caring, but I’m not the person to answer her questions. “I won’t put words in Serena’s mouth. You’ll have to ask her.”
She gives me a level stare, but thankfully doesn’t have time to further interrogate me as Serena enters the room, her face stretching in a delighted smile.
“Archer.” She walks over and hugs me, my arm automatically snaking around her waist to return her embrace. “What brings you by?”
I breathe in deep before I even realize what I’m doing, the already familiar scent easing me. I’m aware of Wendy’s gaze still on me as I bend down to whisper, “Angelina wants another picture.”
Her smile isn’t as wide as I lean back. “Okay. I can do that.” She turns to Wendy. “I’m going to take a quick break.”
“You take as long as you need, honey. It was certainly good to meet you, Archer.”
I nod, nothing about her words or tone indicating any displeasure with me, but I sense it all the same. Like she’s a mama bear and I’m messing too closely with her cub. But I’m not doing anything wrong with Serena.
And why do I even care?
“How about we take Petey for a walk?” Serena asks, letting go of me.
Who is Petey? “Uh, sure.”
She disappears in the back, returning a minute later with an energetic white dog with a big patch of brown over one eye. He strains at his leash to reach me, doing everything he can to lick my hand. I bend down and scratch behind his ears, his tail thumping the floor.
“Are you a dog person?” she asks, smiling normally again.
“I like them. But we never had any pets growing up. And I work so much now…”
Marrying the Billionaire (Bishop Brothers Book 2) Page 8