Page 37 of The Marriage Mistake

Jack nodded, eyes tracking me as I moved to the other side of the bed and climbed in under the covers. It felt like being watched by a hungry wolf. Stalked. Like I was prey. The pajamas I’d been given were soft pants and a loose T-shirt, but I still felt exposed. The bed dipped as I climbed in. I flicked the big, fluffy duvet over my legs and shimmied down onto the luxurious pillow.

All the while, I was intensely, unbearably aware of the man sitting a few inches to my left. My heart thrummed, and I felt the pulse everywhere. In my wrists. My knees. Between my legs.

As a rule, I was not a sexual person. I rarely got turned on. This was unfamiliar territory. My brain frantically tried to come up with an explanation, but the only thing I could settle on was that I liked Jack. I liked the way I felt when I was around him. I liked the way he looked at me. I liked his laugh, and his voice, and the way he relaxed when he was with his daughter.

I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my back to him, needing to get a grip.

“You sure you don’t want me to sleep on the chair?” There was a thread of humor in his tone. He could tell I was tense. He didn’t know it was because I was wondering what it would feel like to have his weight on top of me. To find out what all those other women already knew.

“Go to sleep, Jack,” I grumbled, pulling the blankets up to my chin.

He huffed a laugh, then flicked his light off. It took me a long time to fall asleep.

JACK

I listened to the rain and the sound of Ember’s soft breaths, and I wanted. Wanted to slide my hand over her waist and feel the curve of her hip. Wanted to roll her onto her back and fit myself in the cradle of her thighs. Wanted to swallow every gasp, every moan, every hitched breath. Wanted to feel the tight clasp of her and make her tell me she belonged to me.

This wasn’t the lust I was accustomed to. It wasn’t scratching an itch with the nearest available woman. This was something burrowed deep inside me, some need I hadn’t known I had.

And Ember didn’t want me at all.

She flinched every time I touched her. She blushed when people questioned our relationship. She avoided looking at me unless it was necessary. She wanted nothing to do with me.

I deserved this in repayment of my last ten years of debauchery. Deserved it for wanting someone as badly as I wanted her.

I wasn’t allowed to want this way. Wasn’t allowed to get happiness for myself. That ship had sailed. It had crashed against the rocks and shattered into the hungry sea.

None of the women who had slept with me actually wanted me. They wanted pleasure, or money, or distraction. No one had looked into my battered soul and said, yes, you. I choose you.

When Ember began to mutter and whimper in her sleep, I couldn’t resist the urge to reach over and stroke her arm. She rolled onto her back, her face drawn with whatever bad dream was plaguing her spirit. A tortured sound slipped through her lips, and it speared straight through my heart.

I acted before I could overthink it, my arms curling around her, pulling her against my chest.

Her body eased against mine, small hand curling over my heart. She let out another noise—a softer, more content little mewl—and fell into a deep sleep, her head resting between my shoulder and chest. She fit against me like she was made to be there. Staring at the ceiling, I tried to ignore the weight of her arm across me and the leg she’d thrown over mine. I pretended the feel of her gentle breaths across my collarbones didn’t affect me. Pretended my cock wasn’t stirring at her nearness.

It was wrong to touch her like this. To want her like this, when I knew she didn’t want me back.

But I fell asleep with my arms around her anyway.

Thankfully, I woke up before her and was able to extricate myself from her limbs without disturbing her, and without her witnessing what her closeness did to me. I padded to the attached shower and stood under the spray for long minutes before I finally gave up and wrapped my hand around my stiff shaft.

It was her face I saw when pleasure shattered through me. Her name that slipped out on a gasp, muffled by the sound of the falling water.

TEN

EMBER

I woke up when Jack moved, horrified to realize I’d mauled him in the night. He was gentle with me, and I pretended to sleep while he got out of bed and went to the bathroom. The shower turned on, and I rolled onto my back while my hands came up to slap against my face.

Mortification was a hot burn against my ribs. Maybe I should’ve insisted he take the armchair, after all.

When he came back out of the bathroom, dressed in the same clothes he’d had on yesterday, his eyes raked over my body like a physical touch. I flushed, remembering how I’d woken up, and ducked my head as I murmured, “Good morning,” before hiding out in the bathroom for a while.

We were served breakfast in the dining room—Oren was awake but unavailable, apparently—and then got the call from Bennett that the road had been cleared in the early hours. After thanking Giles and the rest of the staff for their hospitality, we escaped into the car.

Driving off the Blanchard land felt like re-entering the real world. I stole a glance at Jack to see if he was as thrown as I felt, but he drove with the same confident ease as usual. One hand on the steering wheel, the elbow propped on the window frame, his other arm resting on the center console, fingertips on the gear shift. Completely relaxed.

Things got a little easier when we picked Darby up from her uncle’s house. She threw herself in the back seat, her bag clattering against the far door. “Hey. You survived.”