Chapter 52

Quentin

I watch from a distance as all eyes are riveted on my wife. She bought herself, not a typical short black dress or a long gown with a slit up the side, but what I can only describe as an eccentric, yet very sexy three-piece shorts-suit, which shows off her curves, yet lends an air of edginess to her figure. Combined with the artistically, holes-ridden stockings and platform boots that come to over her knees, and a hat with a veil which falls over her eyes, she looks like a rock queen, wet dream.

Her showing has been a resounding success. All her paintings sold out, and above asking price. There was a bidding war on all but one of the twenty-five. I hadn't expected anything less.

And no, I didn't buy any of the paintings.

I would not deprive my wife of this chance to come into her own power. Over the past few days, as I stepped back and gave her space to focus on her painting, I gradually came to the realization that, not only do I want to care for her and keep her safe, but I also want to see her grow. I want to nurture her talent. I want to nurture her... And it"s not the age difference between us bringing out this need in me to see her flourish. It"s because I knew she"s capable of more.

For too long, she held herself back. For too long, she sacrificed herself for others.

This is her time to shine. Her time to realize her full potential. The satisfaction I get by encouraging her and seeing her actualize her talents is as heady as the rush of having her submit to me in bed, perhaps more so.

I want her to realize how fucking talented she is. Enough that she doesn't need her husband stepping in to buy her paintings.

The twenty-fifth painting—the one I caught a glimpse of in her studio before she fainted in front of it—was sold before the showing opened.

It's the most spectacular of the lot, with buyers ready to pay three times the asking price for it, but she hasn't relented.

My guess is, Raven bought it for herself, and if that's the case, I'm bloody proud of her for doing that.

She has the talent, the ambition, the determination, and now, the name, to make it in her chosen field.

As for me? I'll never stop wanting her. Never stop loving her. Never stop needing her. Never stop… wanting to make her submit to me. But only if that's what she wants. She holds the power in our relationship.

I might be dominant, and I may be older than her, but her happiness is all that matters.

"She's something, huh?" Felix slips into the space next to me. "She's more gorgeous than the last time I saw her."

I shoot him a glance and am about to tell him off, when I notice the expression on his face is one of admiration, devoid of possession.

"She's coming into her own; the look suits her," he adds.

I look at my son in a new light. He's more astute than I've given him credit for.

"It does," I agree.

He turns to me. "How are you doing?"

His question takes me by surprise. When was the last time my son asked after me? Never? Another change in the relationship between us. Since the day he walked her down the aisle and pressed her hand into mine—and I should give her and him credit for that—the dynamic between my son and me has mellowed. We'll never have a traditional father-son relationship, but I hope it's, at least, one of friends. It doesn't mean we call and text each other daily, but he's agreed to join the family business and work his way up the ladder, which is something I never thought would happen.

And part of this new relationship between us means, I"m going to be honest with him. "I've been better," I admit.

His glance turns watchful. "You look tired, Dad," he offers.

I blink at the rush of emotion that crowds my chest. Since Shiloh's big reveal, he's continued to call me so. Guess that encounter with her did more good than not. It helped us realize we"re on the same side.

"I'm okay," I grab him by the scruff of his neck and haul him close for a hug, "Everything"s going to be fine."

Someone clears his throat next to us. "What's with the two of you indulging in this very un-Davenportlike behavior?" I step back and release my son, then turn to face Knox's sneering features.

"You mean, why are we hugging each other instead of backstabbing?" I drawl.

"You said it, uncle dearest." Knox glances around the space. "Is there any booze, other than the girly drinks they're serving, you think?"

"I'm sure the bar would be happy to oblige." I nod in the direction of the far side of the room.

He eyes the crowded room with distaste. "So I'll have to walk through that?"

"It might do you some good to rub shoulders with artists," I drawl.

"Artists?" His frown deepens. "A bloody waste of time, if you ask me—your wife not included, of course."

"Of course." I raise a shoulder. "Everyone's entitled to their viewpoints, I suppose."

He stares at me, a look of amazement on his face. "Going mellow in your old age or something?"

"Or something."

He shakes his head, then pulls out his phone and shoots off a text message.

A few seconds later, a diminutive blonde dressed in a skirt and a jacket, which is two sizes too big for her, materializes by his side. She's holding a cut-glass tumbler with amber liquid in it, which suggests he might have messaged her to bring him a drink? She holds out the glass to him. "Just as you like it, with two pieces of ice."

"You're a doll." Knox takes it without looking in her direction.

She looks stricken for a second, then composes her features. "Do you need anything else before I leave?" she asks in a soft voice.

"Nope, you're dismissed." Knox makes a dismissive gesture.

A hurt look comes into her eyes, then she squares her shoulders and walks off.

Felix and I exchange a glance with each other. "Who was that?" I clear my throat.

"Who was who?" Knox asks without taking his gaze off whoever in the crowd has captured his attention.

"The woman who brought you your drink?"

He looks down at his drink, as if noticing it for the first time, then in the direction of the woman who left. "You mean June?"

"June, huh?"

"She's my assistant."

"Since when?" I frown.

"For a few months now." He shrugs.

"And you brought her to the opening?" Felix asks.

"Of course I did. She knows exactly how I like my drinks, and when I want to eat, and how to get my suits pressed so I never run out of them. She's also very good at guarding my privacy and filtering my work emails so the riffraff doesn't bother me. Couldn't do without her." He throws back the rest of his drink, then looks around. As if reading his mind, she reappears at his elbow and swaps out the empty glass for a full one.

"Thanks, doll," he says absently.

She winces, opens her mouth as if to say something, then shakes her head, and mutters under her breath. This time when she walks off, her shoulders are rigid.

Felix whistles. "Now, that's what I call service."

And if he keeps doing that she's not going to be around for much longer.I drum my fingers across my chest. "She's worked for you for a few months, but I've never met her before?"

"I asked her to accompany me to events recently. She makes my life easier."

"No kidding," Felix says in a dry voice. "She's attractive, too."

"Who?" Knox shoots him a confused glance. "Who're you talking about?"

"June, of course. I mean, obviously, she's dressing to underplay her assets?—"

Knox's fingers tighten around his glass.

"—and I'd wager, the glasses on her nose are more to hide behind, but boy, it makes you wonder what's underneath?—"

The glass shatters with a crack that"s lost in the general din of the crowd. But it shuts Felix up. He looks at Knox's rigid features and takes a step back. "Whoa, no harm done, mate. I was simply voicing what every red-blooded man here is probably thinking."

"Keep your wank-off thoughts and your fucking gaze to yourself, mate." Knox pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wraps it around his palm, before he shoulders his way through the crowd. I watch him as he makes his way over to my wife. He kisses her on her cheek, and whispers something in her ear. She pulls out her phone from her little bag, and whatever she sees there has her glancing past him in my direction.

Guess she knows. It's not a secret. I suppose it was too optimistic of me to hope she"d learn of the news after her show, so she could focus on her event this evening?

Our gazes connect. As always, a hot sensation stabs at my chest. These unspoken conversations that we have when our eyes meet carry a gut punch. I can't quite make out the expression on her features, but whatever he told her causes her to excuse herself and make her way over to me.

"Here she comes." Felix turns and pretends to straighten my tie. I knock his hand off. "Behave," he murmurs with a sly smile on his face. "Or not. I suppose you're old enough to understand the consequences of your actions?"

He turns to greet Raven when she reaches us. He drops a quick peck on her cheek, and with a last look at me, heads in the direction of the exit.

I look down to find she's looking at me with tears in her eyes. "What have you done?"