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Emma was the only one who knew and I had asked her not to say anything to Adam or Kate until I could tell them. She hadn’t. And besides a few text messages about how I’d better not make her wear an ugly bridesmaid’s gown or carry a parasol down the aisle, she hadn’t really pushed me on the details. Every time I had tried to ask her about Rhys, she avoided the topic. It looked like we both had our own private issues.
“What the hell are you doing?”
My eyes snapped open and I looked at Preston standing in the doorway, leering down at me. I’d never seen so much rage on someone’s face.
I sat up and wrapped my arms around my br**sts. “I’m taking a bath.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw as he examined the obviousness of what I just said. His green eyes held so much bleak hate as he looked along the length of the tub, then at me.
“Get the f**k out.”
He turned and stomped away. Stunned that he just spoke to me like that, I shot out of the bath, grabbed the robe on the back of the door and fastened it. Rushing to the bedroom, Preston stood by the mini bar, pouring himself a drink.
“What is your problem?” I demanded and swayed a bit on my feet. Between my body temperature quickly changing from a hot bath to cool air adding to my already dizzy exhaustion, standing was a bit tough.
He faced me, drink in hand. “I don’t like you in the bathtub,” he stated plainly, as if that should clear everything up.
“Yeah, caught that. But why?”
“Because.” His glare was so strong I was worried just aiming that thing at someone could cause internal combustion. Something was obviously up with him, but there was no way he’d get away with speaking to me like that.
“I didn’t sign up to be barked at, and I certainly didn’t see a ‘no bathtub’ clause in the contract.”
“Then I’ll get that amended and have a fresh document for you to sign tomorrow,” he snapped.
“No way.” I crossed my arms. “I agreed to play by your rules but you can’t go changing things on a whim. Especially stupid things like bathing and—”
“Yes. I can,” he growled.
“No. You can’t, Preston.”
“And what are you going to do? Walk away?” He closed in on me and my heart sped up a bit. He was so imposing.
Preston wasn’t the type of man to hurt a woman, if anything, he was more gentle in a lot of respects when it came to them, from what I’d been able to tell. But this was the first time his anger was directed at me. And I had no idea why.
“I can walk away, Preston. If we’re going to start to play chicken with each other, see who will walk first on day two into this arrangement, then you need to seriously consider how badly you want this to work.”
His nostrils flared. He knew I was calling him out and honestly, I hoped my nerve held up. Backing down now would make for a rough three years…if we even made it that far.
“There is a perfectly good shower. Don’t take a bath again.” His voice was deeper, rougher in a way I’d never heard. Normally he projected power and a kind of charisma that drew people in. This was different. Like wrath was swirling over him and something every dark was clawing at the surface.
“Why?”
“Because I’m asking.” That time his voice held an edge of vulnerability.
I wanted to remind him that this whole situation was based on trust. Instinct told me that this was an issue and to push now would be a mistake. A big one. And a man like Preston didn’t do a damn thing if he didn’t want.
“Since you asked,” I drew out the last word, “I won’t take a bath again.”
“Good.” He nodded and stomped into the closet. I could hear him changing but he didn’t say another word. I stood there wondering just how much of Preston would remain a mystery.
***
“It’s dinner, not a sentencing,” Preston said in my ear.
“I hope so, I didn’t dress for death row.” I tried to joke but my nerves were wired and going crazy. I was nervous. Actually, far, far beyond nervous.
“You look lovely,” Preston said and steered me out of the town car and onto a busy sidewalk.
I was really starting to hate that word because he always said it with such indifference. He could have chosen a worse phrase though, I suppose. We hadn’t said more than two words to each other in three days. Ever since that bathtub incident. If I’d known better, I’d think he had been either ignoring me or avoiding me.
Despite the distance between us, he had come to bed every night. Always sneaking in after I fell asleep and up before I woke. The only reason I knew he’d been there was because the sheets were still warm and his wonderful masculine smell still lingered on his pillow. It was odd, but a part of me was missing him.
We walked into a very nice, very expensive-looking restaurant in downtown Manhattan. The host led us to a private room where Preston’s father, brother and another woman sat waiting. They all stood when we entered.
“Megan, my dear!” John came around the table and wrapped me in a hug. He was so warm and happy it calmed my nerves a bit. “You look radiant.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t you dare,” he scolded. “You call me John, or Dad.”
His smile was so genuine it made my chest twist and think of my own father. Charlie cleared his throat and I turned to face him.
“Megan, you remember my brother Charlie, and this is his wife, Darlene.”
Charlie nodded and Darlene looked me over with a smile plastered to her face that looked more Botox-induced than anything else. She was a bit shorter than I, but built like an exotic belly dancer. With dark eyes and hair, everything about her radiated confidence and money. I had never felt so weird around a woman. She gave off a vibe that I didn’t really like but couldn’t put my finger on why.
“She’s adorable, Preston,” Darlene said.
And then it hit. The reason I didn’t like her. Something behind her eyes when she looked at Preston rubbed me wrong. There was an obvious history between them, and tension so thick I could cut it with a knife.
I grit my teeth and attempted to smile.
“Indeed,” Preston said, and pulled out my chair.
I tried not to fuss with my light yellow lace dress. It was both pretty for spring and evening wear. I loved it because it made me feel feminine and sexy without being over the top. The men were all in suits and Darlene’s tight red number was sleek, tight and left little to the imagination.
