The Billionaire’s Wife (Part Two)(7)
Author: Ava Claire

“Our relationship was ash long before you entered the picture,” Jacob cut in, his attention on his brother. “I’m not angry with you. I don’t even think I’m technically angry at her, though she’s behind all of this. I’m angry with myself. Angry that for the first time, I thought about the past with regret. Regret is weakness. Everyone makes decisions that lead them to this moment. You can’t change the past—but I found myself wishing that I could. That I could go back and know you.”

Not thinking, I reached out and put my hand on top of Jacob’s. He didn’t rebuff me, lifting his fingers slightly to stroke mine.

“So much time we lost-”

“Then let’s not miss a second more,” Cole interjected gently. “Let’s start over.” He pushed back from the table and a smile crept across my face as he walked backward until he hit the doorway. He held his head high and dusted his palms. Without a word he walked back to the table. He pivoted to Jacob, extending his hand.

“Hi. I’m Cole.”

Jacob stared at his hand intently. Like he knew it was more than just a hand. More than a peace offering. More than a new beginning. If he shook Cole’s hand, it meant he was letting his guard down. It meant he could be hurt. But I crossed my fingers and hoped that he saw that the boundaries he built around himself didn’t just keep out the pain, but they walled him in. He had to let go.

Jacob rose from his seat slowly, then shook his brother’s hand. “I’m Jacob.”

TEN

****

I pretended like I was being productive, my attention on the laptop perched in my lap, but leaving Jacob and Cole to have time to themselves after dinner was really just a cover. I’d snatched up pieces of conversation, each laugh, each smile behind words making me feel less and less like the worst wife ever.

After they reintroduced themselves, Jacob had honored their unspoken truce. He talked about growing up, lonely even though he was surrounded by kids just like him. Rich kids discarded by ambivalent parents. He talked about turning Whitmore and Creighton from an underdog to a contender in the field of public relations. When a publicity shit storm hit, Whitmore Creighton was the first name that came to mind for damage control.

Cole talked about growing up in a whole different world. He was adopted by a middle class family, his mother was a teacher, his father owned an auto shop. Cole was their oldest, and his sister, Melody, was their miracle that came eight years later. He graduated with a degree in English literature and wanted to be a high school english teacher, like his mom.

They talked about everything from politics to their worst hangovers—everything but Alicia. She was the elephant in the room, the only subject that was forbidden.

Before I left I wanted to tell them that tiptoeing around Alicia Whitmore was exactly what she wanted. That she was the person that connected them couldn’t ever truly be disregarded, but I didn’t want to derail their progress.

I leaned in, clutching my laptop as I strained to listen when their laughter drifted from the dining room.

“You sure you got enough to eat?” Jacob’s voice was warm. Friendly.

“Absolutely. Too much even.” A chair scraped against the floor. “I better head out. Back to work bright and early.” He came into the main room, seeking me out. He waved, his smile bright and disarming. “Thanks again for having me over, Leila.”

“Anytime,” I replied, biting my lip when Jacob appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with an arched eyebrow. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Now she asks me,” he said sarcastically, but I saw the half smile on his lips. He faced Cole, holding out his hand. “You’re welcome anytime. We’ll talk soon.”

“Handshakes are for strangers and business.” Cole bypassed the hand, embracing Jacob. The shock on Jacob’s face melted into a look so hopeful that my heart leaped in my chest. He mumbled something and clapped his brother on the back and Cole made his exit, leaving us staring at the spot where he stood.

I felt Jacob’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t bear to look into his eyes and see disappointment. “I know you’re pissed-”

“I’m not pissed.”

I jerked my gaze upward, sure that I misheard him. “You’re not?”

He crossed his arms, his face hopelessly unreadable. “Get over here.”

I slid my laptop onto the cushion, but made no other moves toward him. “What?”

“You heard me.” His voice deepened to that delicious, terrifying timbre that made me tremble and melt all at once. That roped me in, tied me down, and claimed me. “Get over here.”

I slid from the couch, the hardwood floor cool against my feet but doing nothing to the heat that was taking over. I’d been so on edge, so worried about what came next that all the worries dropped onto me. One foot in front of the other, hoping for something I didn’t deserve. Hoping that he not only forgave me, but that he’d touch me and make it real. Fill me and whisper that he loved me, flaws and all.

I stopped a few feet away from him. Close enough that I could see all the ways he turned a shirt and tie into the sexiest thing is ever seen. I saw the deep shade of brown that flickered through his locks, the candlelight turning his strands gold. His eyes were deep blue, rushing over me. Pulling me under.

He was so close that his breath was my breath. So close that I felt every emotion flowing through him; his anger, his frustration. When he pulled me toward him, my body crashing into his, I was close enough to feel his lust.

I hitched a breath as he fisted my hair, blue eyes catching fire. “After what you did, I have every right to be angry. To be furious. But I can’t think when you look at me like that, Leila.”

My lips were inches from his. Quivering. Aching. “Like what?”

“Like you see me. All of me. And you love me anyway.”

He cupped my cheek, his thumb strumming my cheek so softly that I felt the music in my bones. I stared up at him, so open, so vulnerable and I spoke the truth in my heart.

“How could I not love you, Jacob? You’re my world. And I’m s-”

“Shh.” He took my face in both hands, his forehead pressed against mine as his eyes bore into mine. “Don’t apologize. I know your heart was in the right place. I don’t like that you essentially ambushed me, but that’s you. You fiercely worry about the people you love and you’re willing to do anything for them. I wished for someone like you. And now that you’re mine, I’m never letting you go.”

He consumed my mouth and I breathed him in. His love, his moans, his desire. This kiss was more than lips and tongue and our teeth clashing as we clawed at each other. This kiss was my apology, his apology—the taste and feel of ‘I screwed up and all I want is for everything to be okay’.