Chapter 40: Xavier

Chapter 40: Xavier

I want to bash all their faces in. Maybe not Aiden who tried to calm everyone down, because he seems like an alright bloke, but definitely everyone else. I want to hug Ophelia and kiss her hurt away. Then I want to bash some more.

How dare those twats attack her like that? They wouldn’t even let her get a word in edgewise, jumping to conclusions and taking every opportunity to insult her. No wonder she dated wankers like Trent and losers from ClikClak.

I’ll never, as long as I live, forget the look on her face when they started saying all those things about her.

"Even though I did marry you without knowing you, and there may have been talk of financial compensation, that’s not why I married you. It’s definitely not why I slept with you. I’m not that kind of girl."

"I know," I murmur into her hair. "I’ve seen your desk. I’ve seen your spreadsheets. I know you’re an accountant. An actual one, not a euphemistic one. You’re not hiding your profession from anyone."

Ophelia makes a strangled sound, a cross between a whimper and a cry.

"Ssshh," I say again. "I’ve got you. I’m here for you. Let me help you."

She pulls back, looking up at me. Her eyes are wide and wet with tears. "Why? Why would you help me? Can’t you see what a disaster I am? Can’t you tell I make a mess of everything?"

I give her a small smile. "No, you’re perfect the way you are. Don’t you see that?"

It hits me like a ton of bricks that I mean every single word.

"Go ask the mob in there if I’m perfect, and they’ll give you a list a mile long of all the ways I’ve screwed up in my life."

"Ophelia, this entire situation is a bin fire. You had nothing to do with that. It’s not your fault, and I’m sorry your family can’t see. I’m sorry they didn’t even give you the decency of hearing you out."

Seriously, they’re a bloody bunch of wankers, the right lot of them.

All I want to do is make her hurt go away. Brush those harsh words off her like crumbs. Wrap her in my arms and protect her.

I could do that.

I should do that.

I do that.

I was defenseman of the year the last year I played in Bristol. It’s how I earned my spot on the national team. I can defend the hell out of Ophelia like she’s the goal. Just as I wouldn’t let a ball pass, no longer will the hurt get through to her. She’s my goal and I will defend her with every ounce of energy I have.

And I’d like to start with some definite man-to-man coverage.

Her body trembles against mine. I’m not sure if she’s cold or simply upset. It doesn’t matter. I want to soothe her, as she did me.

Exactly like she soothed me. Maybe with a few new things we could try.

I don’t know where these thoughts come from, but it’s all I can think of. Making Ophelia feel better. Making her smile and laugh. Making her moan.

Making her see how incredible she is. "We should go far away from here, where it’s just the two of us."

I feel her nod against my chest.

"How far is your place?"

"Over two hours."

Bollocks.

"How far is our place?" I look down at her. My eyes must be full of want and longing.

"About the same."

"Drat. I don’t want to wait that long."

Ophelia pulls back. "That long for what?"

My hands slide down and tighten, lifting her up against me. Her legs wrap around my waist. I move one hand up to grip the base of her neck and kiss her. There’s no hesitance on her part. Her mouth is warm, tasting vaguely of the wine she’d been sipping before all hell broke loose.

"Ophelia," I groan into her mouth. "Let’s. Get. Out. Of. Here." I pepper each word with a kiss along her jawline and to her neck. She moans softly when I get to the soft spot behind her collar bone.

"Hotel?" she breathes as she tilts her face up to meet my gaze.

I nod, letting her slide back down me. Christ, her body feels incredible rubbing against mine. I can’t wait to do it without clothing.

Ophelia pulls out her phone. "I’ve got one in Avon that doesn’t look too seedy. I’ll text you the address. Follow me there, so we don’t have to come back here for our cars."

I smile. "You know I’m from Avon County, right? It’s where my home is."

"Then this was all meant to be," she says with a wink.

Driving the nine or so kilometers to the hotel takes just under ten minutes. The GPS said eleven, but she’s obviously as anxious for this as I am. We stand, antsy and impatient, at the check-in counter of the Avon Old Farms Hotel while the clerk painstakingly clicks through screens on the computer.

"Luxury King or Traditional King?"

"What’s the difference?" Ophelia asks. I don’t care personally, as long as it has plenty of room for me to shag her senseless.

"The Luxury is on the second or third floor and features a two-poster bed for $169 a night. The Traditional will be located on our first floor and features a four-poster king bed for $149 a night."

"The Traditional," Ophelia answers before I even have time to process the choices. I may run a thirty-three-kilometer-per-hour sprint, but I can’t keep up with her right now. Her credit card is out and in the clerk’s hands before I can protest.

As soon as the keys are presented, she snatches them and starts power walking down the hall. I adjust my stride to keep up.

"What’s the hurry?" I want her to say it. I want her to say she wants me the way I want her, and nothing but our bodies pressed together, hot and sweaty, will make things right.

"Four-poster bed," she pants.

We get to the door and I put my hand over hers on the knob. "Yes, so?" I’m right behind her, so she turns, hand still under mine, to face me.

"Four-poster bed," she repeats, raising her eyebrows.

I tilt my head, still not getting what she’s attempting to communicate.

"Think of all the things we could do."

My mouth goes dry as my pants become unbearably tight. I grip the door handle, pushing the door open as my mouth crashes onto hers. I back her through the door, and as soon as our bags clear the threshold, I pick her up and carry her directly to the bed.

It’s a good thing it’s a long weekend here in America. I plan to use every second wisely.