Chapter 15

I pride myself on staying in control at all times and have worked hard over the years to stay on top.

To be the best.

Brutal.

Ruthless.

Yet Cecilia van der Meer waltzes into my life with her long, shapely legs and fiery attitude and turns it upside down without trying.

At first, I sense a dull ache behind my temples, and then a bright sunbeam streams through a gap in the curtains and hits me straight in the face. I groan as I shield my eyes with my hand. How much did I have to drink last night? Enough to sink a ship of sailors, it would seem.

Jeez. I lower my hand but immediately regret it when I’m blinded by the morning sun.

Great, I never made it to bed last night. When was the last time I slept on the couch? It was so long ago that I can’t recall.

I rub my eyes, wincing at the insistent throb in my skull.

I can barely remember the previous night. A nightmare woke me, and I went to see Cecilia’s father before deciding to dull the pain with enough whiskey to shut down my kidneys.

My thoughts grind to a halt when I become aware of soft breaths against the crook of my neck, and I lower my hand.

What the hell? Cecilia is curled up beside me with her head on my shoulder and her fingers on my chest, above my heart.

I swallow around a thick lump in my throat, not daring to move as my heart begins to pound. What is she doing here? More importantly, why is she cuddled up with me?

My first instinct is to extract myself from her, but something stops me. Maybe it’s the sensation of her breaths against my skin or the way my heart hammers beneath her fingers, almost as if it’s chasing her touch.

I wet my lips nervously and shift my head to look at her.

A tendril of blonde hair threatens to escape from behind her ear, and dark lashes fan her cheeks.She looks peaceful. Or maybe I like to believe she feels safe beside me.

My gaze shifts between her long lashes and slightly parted plump lips. I’ve kissed her before, but those kisses were aggressive and dominant. Now, as her eyes move beneath her lids, I wonder how it would feel to savor her kiss and those pillowy lips that look so soft.

To taste her shaky breaths and make her fall apart with a kiss alone.

I lean in slowly to avoid waking her, wetting my lips in anticipation. Just as I’m about to taste her, her eyes flutter open and widen. She shoves away from me like her ass is on fire, tumbling off the couch with a loud thud and a startled yelp.

Flustered, she pops back up, brushing hair away from her face. “Good morning,” she says, standing and looking around as if she can’t remember falling asleep on the couch. Her gaze returns to me, and she attempts an awkward smile. “I, uh…” She glances past me to the door. “I should go.”

I turn my head as she scurries away, eager to escape, and just before she exits the room, I call her name, causing her to skid to a stop. I choose to ignore the pounding headache for now as I rise from the couch, and Cecilia stiffens when I approach her from behind.

Although she has always been careful to keep her guard raised around me, this is different—almost as if I caught her with it lowered, and something about that pulls me forward.

“Did I say something last night?” I ask as she touches her chin to her shoulder to gauge where I am. I’m close enough to cloak her in my heat without us touching.

“Say something?”

Did I confess to keeping your father locked up in the cellar?

No, I couldn’t have told her. Cecilia would have murdered me in my sleep if I’d revealed that tidbit of information.

“You don’t remember,” she states as I slowly inch her gown down her shoulder to reveal her creamy skin.

“Pointing out the obvious.”

She jerks away and spins around. “You were drunk, so I got you a blanket.”

“And then decided to crawl up beside me?”

Her cheeks redden, and she turns to leave again, but I grab her hair and yank her flush against my chest. She gasps, breathing hard, tits straining against the silk fabric of her flimsy gown.

“How come you didn’t kill me?” I ask, tweaking one of her nipples into a hard bud. “The gun was right there.”

Panting, she tries to elbow me, but her attempts are half-assed. “I didn’t know it was there.”

“Bullshit, and you know it. Are you feeling sentimental, wife?”

“Don’t be delusional. I hate you with every atom in my body.”

I chuckle, nipping at her ear. “Such foreplay. You had your chance, and you blew it.”

Cecilia wrestles free, throwing me up against the wall, and then her lips are on mine and her hands are in my hair, tugging and pulling. She climbs me like a tree while I tear her robe open to palm her full breasts and squeeze her ass.

Fuck me; she’s perfection.

I growl into her mouth as I spin us around. “You should have killed me.”

She breaks away, her pretty green eyes falling to my lips, and a smirk crosses her face as she lowers my joggers. “It’s not too late.”

My cock springs free, pulsing in her grip, and when she tugs, my knees nearly buckle.

“Fuck,” I whisper, kissing her hard and deep, my hands in her long hair.

“It would be a waste of a perfectly fine cock if I killed you,” she says, humming into my mouth, stroking me in long, maddening pulls while an erotic smile plays on her lips.

Grabbing her perfect perky ass, I grind against her. Why does she have to be my weakness and hold so much power over me? I love and hate it in equal measure.

In a few short weeks, she has burrowed so deep beneath my skin that there’s no chance of redemption. I’m a lost cause and a fucking glutton for her.

“I should’ve known you only wanted me for my body,” I tease, fucking her hand.

“You could benefit from a personality transplant.”

“Is that so?”

Cecilia traps her lip between her teeth while running her thumb over the weeping crown and pulls me closer with a firm grip. I nearly come on the spot when she flashes a flirty smile that’s all sex and debauchery, and then she says, “You’re intolerable at the best of times.”

“I love your aggression.”

“You do, huh?” Palming my balls with her free hand, she digs her long nails into the sensitive skin.

Turned on beyond belief and a little afraid by this crazy, unpredictable vixen, I suck in a breath and grab hold of the bookshelf behind her. “You’re a feisty little thing, aren’t you?”

“And you’re an asshole. Don’t we make the perfect couple?”

“The fucking best.” I slam my lips to her soft ones and flatten her against the shelf. Fuck. I could taste her all day long. Stay here and kiss until my lungs shrivel up. “You were right about one thing,” I say as books tumble to the floor.

“Yeah?” she pants between hungry kisses, hiking her thigh around my hip and guiding me to her slick entrance.

Shivers race along my skin as I trail kisses down her neck. “We do have a thing for bookshelves.” I bite her pulse point, reveling in her whimper.

“Isn’t that romantic?” a different voice asks, and Cecilia gasps. The next few seconds pass in a manic blur as I spin around to hide Cecilia behind me then pull my pants up.

Sinclair looks far too fucking amused, leaning against the doorframe with one ankle crossed over the other. He blows on his glasses and rubs the surface with his sleeve. “Sorry to interrupt your little book club, but we have a meeting with the other Elders and the Bishop.”

Cecilia tries to peer over my shoulder, but she soon shrinks back when I growl like a caveman. With a smirk, Sinclair puts his glasses back on.

“You better bleach your eyes,” I warn. “I swear if you?—”

“Relax,” he says, stifling laughter. “I have no interest in your wife.”

I should receive an award for staying put and not slaughtering my best friend. Just the thought of another man laying eyes on my woman, my wife, makes me want to spill blood. And a lot of it. Paint the room red and decorate the curtain poles with his innards like tinsel.

Sinclair exits the room, unbothered by my unhinged, murderous glare. “They’re waiting for you in the office.”

Cecilia crouches down to collect her gown. She dresses in silence and then tries to sneak past me, but I grab her neck and crush my lips to hers before she can escape my clutches.

This kiss is a claiming. A feral need to own and possess her after she was naked in another man’s proximity—it doesn’t matter that she was in my arms. My mind doesn’t make the connection. My mind wants to conquer. To show her who she belongs to.

I release her just as fast and stride out, leaving her to reel in the aftermath of whatever fucked-up collision that was of sexual tension and crumbling walls.

I spend the meeting listening to the Bishop with half an ear while doodling on a sketch pad.

Fucking doodling.

I’ve never doodled in my life.

Seated beside me in a crisp suit and a Patek Philippe watch strapped to his wrist, Sinclair gives me funny looks. I ignore him, too preoccupied with thoughts of my new wife, which should be my first warning that something is seriously wrong. I never spend the night on the couch like some rough sleeper in a dank corner of the city center, and I don’t doodle or let my thoughts drift to the female gender. Yet I’m guilty of all those things in the last twenty-four hours. Cecilia is a plague. Admittedly, she’s a very nice one, with plump lips, a breathtaking smile, and tits I want to suck on. But a plague, nonetheless. I need to rid myself of this disease.

Once the meeting is over, Sinclair pulls me aside while the others filter out. We smile politely at them, nodding a few goodbyes.

Sinclair waits for them to leave before he turns back to me. “I’m worried about you.”

“Wow. I see you’re not skirting around the subject.”

“You’re not acting yourself.”

“You don’t need to concern yourself with my business, Sinclair?—”

“The hell I do,” he growls, losing his temper briefly before he clears his throat and composes himself. “I’m your friend, probably your only friend. Believe it or not, I care about you.”

I walk past him. “That’s enough of the sentimental bullshit. We have more important issues at hand?—”

He strides around me, blocks the exit, and puffs out his cheeks like he’s done with my crap. When he finally speaks, his voice is lacking its usual amused lilt. He sounds…tired. “Look… Miss van der Meer, she?—”

“Mrs. Delacroix,” I correct.

“Mrs. Delacroix.” His throat rolls with his next swallow. “She could either be the best thing that happened to you or the worst.”

He lets his words settle for brief moments before he runs his hand over his mouth and says, “I’ve known you since we were kids. I was there when?—”

“Don’t!” I snap. “Don’t say it.”

“It needs to be said. You’ve buried the past like it never happened, Darian. It’s eating you up from the inside. I hate to say it, but you’re not the guy you used to be. You’re this…” He gestures at me. “…this shell. An emotionless robot.”

“Jeez, thanks.” I try to move past him again, but he takes up more room than a tank.

“Step aside,” I warn. “You don’t want to mess with me today.”

“Dammit. Listen to me.”

I cross my arms, waiting him out with a raised brow.

“She’s the first person to knock down your walls, which is great. But you built them so damn high in the first place that there’s bound to be collateral damage when they collapse. I just need you not to be buried beneath the rubble when all is said and done.”

“What’s next, Sinclair? Poetry club?”

“This is what you do,” he says, exasperated. “You push people away. You keep your distance from everything and everyone. “What about her father? Have you talked to your wife?”

Hardening my jaw, I look away as my stomach coils.

“It’s not her I worry about. It’s you. You’re pale as fuck because you barely sleep anymore, and you reek of a distillery.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, okay? I’m fine. I’m always fucking fine.”

“Sure,” he bites out with a glare. “You’re so fucking fine.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The fight leaves him as he blows out a breath. “Nothing. Just, uh, be careful, okay? I don’t want to see you so broken again.”

“Fine…”

He lets me pass this time, but before I exit the room, he pleads, “Don’t enter the cellar again. Please.”

I walk out, tossing him one final confused look over my shoulder.