"I don’t remember walking into a chapel." I stood from my desk and paced my office. "Lower the judgment in your tone, all right? We were shit-faced one of the days. That’s probably what happened."
Ashley was speechless.
"In my twenty-five years of working in the industry, this has never happened to me. You are the world’s most high-maintenance client."
"Stop bitching and tell me our next step."
"We contact the girl and pay her off before the Journal does. Did you make her sign a non-disclosure agreement?"
My heart froze. Contact her? Over the years, I'd thought about what I'd say if I ever ran into Naomi. She rejected me five years ago, and I was still holding a massive grudge.
"Well?" she prompted.
"I didn’t sign an NDA." Or a prenup.
"God."
I sat and opened my laptop, fingers hovering over the keys. Googling my former flame was bad for old wounds.
Did I want to go there?
Yes.
I typed her name and her LinkedIn profile came up. She was here. Her resume hadn’t been updated in four years, but her location was listed as New York City. I found her social media profile next. A couples’ photo popped up as I searched for Naomi Watson.
My chest caved in as though from an invisible blow. Anger coiled around my torso like thick ropes. Breathing seemed impossible. I wanted to put my fist through the screen and destroy that taunting image.
Naomi and him.
She was with Ethan-fucking-Blackwood.
Swallowing the bile in my mouth, I scrolled to that douche bag’s Instagram where a medley of Ethan images doubled my outrage until one dumped pure kerosene in my guts.
A wedding ring. It was captioned with two nauseating words.
I’m engaged.
Graham
Why did I think I could let her go?
Naomi was still painfully beautiful. Ebony waves. Bold red lips. A body made for my hands. Her cocktail dress was a tight number that ended several inches above her knee. I was a man on a mission, but staying detached was impossible. Our eyes met in a clash of fire.
"We’re husband and wife."
I took Naomi’s hand. Her fingers folded in mine like soft petals. If she thought I held her out of kindness, she was dead wrong. Naomi needed to understand two things:
First, we were married.
Second, I wasn’t leaving without her.
Naomi clenched her fist. "Married?"
I closed the distance between us and fought the urge to throw her over my shoulder and walk out. Patience wasn’t my thing, especially after an hour of watching Ethan parade my wife around like a show horse.
I loathed that bastard. "Sorry for crashing your engagement party, darling."
She had a gorgeous smile. I hated myself for noticing.
"You’re lying."
"We found a chapel that weekend and exchanged vows to make it official."
Naomi scoffed. "I’d remember marrying you."
"I would, too."
"Right." Her tone could frost glaciers. "I’m done with this conversation."
"We were wasted on Saturday. That’s when it happened." I grabbed the evidence folded in my pocket and gave it to her. "Here."
She held the marriage certificate to her nose, the sheet shaking as she traced her signature beside mine. Color slowly leeched from her face.
She pressed her whitened lips together, horrified. "No."
A flame shot into my heart. Maybe I'd judged her engagement jitters for outright disgust. I’d watched them all evening. She looked on the verge of a breakdown, and I chalked it up to regret, but this news made her worse.
Naomi’s chest pulsed with short, panicked breaths. "I don’t understand. How could this happen?"
"Mai tais are deadly. We had eight."
"I can’t believe this."
She dropped the page. I stooped to tuck it in my jacket, and when I straightened Naomi was crying. Tears glistened in her eyes. She was devastated about that obnoxious prick, and I hated her for that.
"You should thank me. Now you have a cast-iron excuse not to marry that jackass."
Naomi glanced around, horrified. "Don’t say that!"
"Don't pretend you care. I've been watching you both. Swear to God, the only one who doesn’t know you're not into Ethan is Ethan."
"He’s the love of my life."
I laughed at her deadpan delivery. I couldn’t fill in the blanks over the last five years, but Naomi looked miserable. If she loved Ethan, why was she talking to me? Why was she giving me every fucking signal that she wanted an escape?
"I’m the love of your life, Naomi. That’s your signature."
"Slurring a bunch of drunken vows hardly makes us a couple." Naomi glared at the pocket where the certificate had disappeared.
"It does in the state of Nevada."
Naomi’s lip trembled. "When did you find out?"
"A week ago."
"You waited a week to tell me?"
"And how was I supposed to contact you after you blocked me everywhere?"
"I don’t know," she burst. "Make a new email and send me a message!"
"Well, I could have, but where’s the fun in that?"
Naomi uttered a sharp scream of frustration. She was angry with herself, and probably dreading Ethan’s response.
I was looking forward to it.
"Perfect," she hissed. "How did you even know to come here?"
"Your fiancé has a big mouth. All it took was a search on Twitter."
Two pink patches burned on Naomi’s cheeks. She was flustered—incapable of speech. Taken aback instead of indifferent. She was paying more attention to me than her betrothed, who was finally looking for his fiancée. He purposefully strode across the room, scouring every corner.
Coming here was easier than I’d thought. Ethan didn't care who his guests were, as long as they displayed dog-like obedience.
Naomi clearly didn't want to be there. All night, her paper-thin smiles tore the moment he turned away. Countless times, I watched her drift from Ethan. She disengaged from his touch at every opportunity. She endured rather than participated in his nauseating displays of affection. They were such a terrible couple. Ethan couldn't stop talking about Ethan to notice that his wife-to-be was conspicuously unattached.
"I know why I’m here, Naomi, but why are you here?"
"What do you want me to say?"
Many things.
I wanted her to apologize. I wanted her to confess that she’d thought of me every night she was with Ethan. I needed her to admit she was dead inside from dating the wrong man.
"That he’s a pompous asshole, and you hate him."
Shouts from the background raised her alarm. Her palm fluttered over her chest as she looked for Ethan. When she didn’t find him, she turned to me, sagging with relief. "What do I have to do to make you leave?"
“Come with me."
"No," she barked. "You can’t walk in here and disrupt my life."
“Would you rather I waited until the wedding?”
Naomi’s desperate voice faded into silence. I wanted to stroke the ebony hair splayed over the bright dress and ball it into my fist. Didn’t she fucking understand?
She was mine.
She’d always been mine.
Her intense stare made me feel like I was falling forward. Five years made me weaker instead of stronger against her charms. I pulled her close, inhaling juniper. Those four evenings zipped through my mind. They were coiled around that scent that’d invade my senses after sex, her pillowcase, and years later, clinging to the shirt she’d left behind.
My lips brushed her ear. "We’re going to my place."
"No, I’m not. I have to—I have to tell—"
"Fuck him. You’re not into Ethan. You can’t stand to be touched by him."
She didn’t pull away. "Same goes for you."
I grasped her neck to prove how wrong she was. I pushed her against the
glass, my thumb stroking her beautiful olive skin. Her tight bodice pulsed, and I followed a strand of hair that nestled in her cleavage. It was bad form to grab my wife's tits, so I settled for dragging my finger over them. I hooked the strand of hair and stroked.
Her arms unfolded. Her body went limp, sagging against mine. She grabbed my jacket as though holding on for dear life. A pink blush dusted her cheeks. She wanted this. Her tolerance for Ethan was an act, and I would shatter it.
I was going to kiss my wife.
I angled my head and swept down. Her pulse rocketed as I dipped and touched my lips against hers.
"Graham Hawthorne."
Ethan’s dry voice sprang at us from the darkness. Naomi jerked away. She flattened against the glass. "Ethan. I-I’m sorry."
Her knee-jerk reaction pissed me off. We didn’t share anything but the faintest brushing of lips. It didn’t matter. Ethan would see it as a betrayal and make this easier for me.
Square-jawed Ethan walked into the light. He was his father in his height and build—lean and thin—but his mother shone through his eyes and lips. Watching his features twist into a snarl was confusing. His rage swept me before settling on Naomi.
"What are you doing?"
Ethan glared at our linked hands. Naomi ripped from my grasp, falling silent under the glare of her soon-to-be ex.
Eventually, she found words. "It was a mistake."
Mistake, my ass.
I could've let her save face, but I was a dick. "It wasn't. I'm her husband."
Suddenly, it dawned on Ethan Blackwood that he knew me. It’d been years since our last encounter. Since then, I’d only seen him in print. An online article might mention a donation from one of his charities, or I’d read his name on a guest list, but otherwise I hadn’t seen him. If I’d looked him up, I would’ve noticed her dangling on his arm. I could’ve stopped this.
"What are you doing here?" he growled.
"I’m bringing my wife home."
Whispers broke out among the crowd of partygoers. Ethan recovered from his shock and turned at the waist, reassuring them with a broad smile.
"You’re drunk," he barked, facing me again. "Go home."
"Actually." Naomi’s cheeks darkened when Ethan turned his attention on her. "He’s not—he’s not lying."
"What?"
"We got married in Vegas, five years ago." She stared at him, pink in the face. "I—I didn’t know until now."
"You’ve met him before?"
Ethan’s voice vibrated with a deadly fury that raised alarm bells. I expected him to be decent. I thought he’d direct his outrage toward me. I could deal with Ethan. She couldn’t.
"I haven’t seen him in ages. Ethan, I swear to God, I didn’t know." She shrank against his unflinching stare. "Please believe me."
He took a step forward. I blocked him from touching her. His stony gaze dragged from Naomi to me. He was a toxic cloud of hatred — a joyless asshole who would never, ever touch her again.
"Get out of my way."
I hoped this moment haunted him for the rest of his days. "You and Naomi are done."
"No, we’re not!"
Elbowing me out of the way, Naomi flew to Ethan’s side. Nausea pitted my stomach when he swept her into his arms. He was different with her. Ethan softened, lips tugging into the smallest smile. His fingers lightly brushed her shoulder, a barely intimate gesture that shouldn’t send me into a flying rage.
But it did.
I didn’t give a fuck if it made me a caveman. I’d rip her from his embrace and march her downstairs.
"Don’t you dare." Naomi clung to Ethan tighter, who still looked annoyed. "Ethan, I’m sorry."
"You made a mistake before we met." Ethan shrugged, rolling it off his shoulders. "No big deal."
"There was no fucking mistake." They heard me, but I made sure it sunk in. "She’s my wife. I’m not leaving without her."
Grief shined in Naomi’s watery gaze, but it died like a candle snuffed from a breeze. Hope was a desert in her heart. It broke me to see her so crushed.
"Naomi, come with me."
A smug grin tiptoed across Ethan’s face. "I think she’s made her choice."
Her eyes were dark orbs fractured with pain. She wanted to run into my arms, but she wouldn’t.
Or couldn’t.
"Naomi, you’ll have to come with me. Your fiancé won’t want you after this hits every major news network."
Ethan’s smirk fell from his face. "Yes, he will."
"Well, I’m not getting a divorce. So you might as well let her go."
He didn’t like that. "The fuck did you say?"
"Ethan, please." Naomi linked her arm around his. "Don’t take his bait."
He disengaged from Naomi, his grip like iron on her wrist. Her skin turned white from his touch. "You’ll set her free."
On paper, we were married. That was all that mattered. “No. I don’t think so.”
Red patches burned his cheeks. "She’s not yours."
Now we were finally getting somewhere. "I’m her husband. That makes her mine."
“Actually, I’m not anyone’s,” Naomi snarled. “Both of you can stop speaking for me.”
"I won’t apologize for taking back what’s mine."
A poisonous cloud invaded the space between us as Ethan dropped all pretense. His guests scattered, alarmed by our raised voices. Anxious glances flashed my way, but no one had the balls to intervene. Not that it mattered. I wanted him to lose control.
Ethan stepped forward, murder in his eyes.
She yanked him backward. "Ethan, don’t."
"Yeah, Ethan." I smirked, knowing it would push him over the edge. "Your plastic surgeon is off on weekends. We both know you don’t stand a chance."
Ethan laughed, but his eyes bled rage. He lunged. Naomi held onto his arm. When that didn’t work, she blocked him with her body. She put herself in harm’s way and shoved his chest.
"Don’t be an idiot. He’s trying to get under your skin. And you," she snapped, facing me. "Stay the hell away from us."
I caught Ethan’s smoldering glare before it dimmed to a controlled fire. "You’ll never be her husband."
That did it.
Ethan tossed Naomi aside. She slipped and fell. I bent to catch her. I took Ethan’s fist instead. His knuckles crashed into my jaw. My head whipped sideways, pain shooting into my skull like a white-hot poker. The world went black and exploded with color. Son of a bitch. He cold clocked me. I staggered, avoiding his lunges. His leg shot up. My legs locked, and his knee hit my thigh. Bastard aimed for my fucking balls.
Ethan swung again. I grabbed his arm and yanked. He tripped over my leg, landing onto my raised knee. The room echoed with Ethan's deep gasps. My elbow stabbed his back. He dropped but recovered quickly.
"Hit me with another cheap shot. I dare you." I watched Ethan limp upright, brushing away Naomi. "You’ll never fucking walk again."
Ethan yanked off his blazer and threw it on the floor. Naomi grabbed his elbow. He ripped it from her grasp. "Stay the hell back."
If he touched her again, I’d lose it.
"Both of you, stop!"
Naomi’s plea was lost as Ethan charged. We met in a clash of fists. I dodged his right hook. He tore my shirt. My fist whipped his head to the side. Pain zigzagged across my body as blows rained down my skull. His arm locked around my neck. He squeezed, and the world dimmed.
"This is a familiar position. How many seconds until you pass out? Ten. Nine. Eight."
Agony sliced through every nerve. I shoved his arms over my head. The suffocating pressure vanished. My vision returned. So did my rage. I kicked the backs of Ethan’s legs. He dropped with a grunt. I fisted his hair and kneed his face. Ethan sat up, snarling. My vicious, right hook caught his brow and blood sprayed the marble. I slammed his left cheek.
The violent roar building in my ears reached a crescendo. I couldn't stop until he no longer resembled Ethan. I hammered his head and back unt
il two pairs of arms yanked me off him. Ethan was a bloody pile on the ground, and still, I lunged. Two men hauled me to the elevator.
People hurled insults as they dragged me away, but all I heard was Naomi's dry voice.
"Ethan, are you all right?"
She couldn’t care less about him. All the fight and anger drained from me. If Ethan had zero claim over her heart, I’d already won. Naomi was mine. I’d allow her twelve hours to sever things with Ethan.
And then my wife was coming home. Forever.
Graham
(Five Years Ago)
"Huh. You’re still here."
I turned toward the amused voice luring me out of an erotic dream. Barely conscious, I opened my eyes. Surprise barreled through my veins when I saw her standing by the bed—the woman in my fantasy. Memories of last night slowly untangled as the goddess sank onto the mattress, wearing nothing but my robe. The extra fabric bunched around her shoulders.
I pushed myself upright, resting against the headboard. Sleep clung to my eyelids as she crawled over the coverlet and straddled my waist. My cock roused to full mast as she hovered close. Her ebony tresses were damp and smelled of something floral I didn’t recognize.
"You look so tired." Naomi stroked my hair. "Did I wear you out?"
I grinned, feeling more awake by the second. It was the most fun I’d had in years, with a woman too gorgeous to stay single forever. I met her at the slot machines I’d played on a whim. She spilled onto my lap, drunk but sweet.
"Reach under the covers and find out."
Naomi obeyed, grabbing the root of my cock. "Poor you."
"How sorry are you for me?"
"I might work up sympathy after you eat brunch with me." Naomi leaned forward, her wet hair tickling my pecs. "You need to get up first."
She touched my cheek. I grabbed her bicep and yanked. Laughing, she fell onto my chest. My arms wrapped around her. I rolled until she sprawled on the mattress. We kissed. My lips were chapped from yesterday, but I wanted more. I'd always want more around this woman. I opened her robe, and the sight of her dialed my arousal to eleven.
"Hold on," Naomi sighed into my mouth. "This is embarrassing."
I pulled away, amused by the flush consuming her cheeks. "What is it?"
The Marriage Debt Page 2