Page 57 of Merging Wright

Later that night, I find Jane sprawled across our bed, fully dressed, feet still inside new boots she bought for stomping around town. She’s facedown, ankles hanging off the edge of the mattress. Her position has me imagining all kinds of things with that ass, accentuated by skinny jeans.

“Jane.” I sit on the edge of the bed, pressing a hand on her back. After jostling her only a little bit, she shifts her head, but her eyes remain closed.

“Mach-nificent,” she mutters.

I grin. I’ve heard her use my name in a variety of forms, from her Volde-Mach remark to calling me this nickname on our wedding night.

Is she dreaming about that night?

I tip to my side on the bed, perching on an elbow while keeping my other hand on her lower back. “Jane, baby, wake up.”

I don’t really want to disturb her, but she should shower, or at least change out of her clothes. When she doesn’t budge, I rise, and start unlacing her boots. With a snug fit, the first tug jostles her body, and Jane flips to her back. Her foot remains awkwardly in my hand.

“What are you doing?” Her smoky, groggy voice is like a live wire to my dick.

“You fell asleep. I was taking off your boots for you.”

“Oh, you don’t—”

I drop the first one and pick up her other foot for the second boot.

“Oh God. My feet probably smell, and you really shouldn’t—”

I tug her sock, unconcerned with a little foot odor. “You always smell like summer rain.”

Jane stares at me as I massage the pad of her foot. “Oh God,” she groans, and I want to hear that sound again and again, only I want to touch her other parts to make her hum and purr.

“I was wondering if we could renegotiate the terms of our arrangement.”

Jane’s eyes flutter closed as I dig the pad of my thumb into the arch of her foot, pressing upward to the ball. Her leg jolts. “That tickles.”

I smile to myself and move my other hand to her ankle, stroking along the narrow portion of her leg.

“Jane. Our arrangement.” I want more with her.

Her eyes focus on my face. “What did you have in mind?”

“No one in Chicago knows we’re married. Here in Wrightwood, people are learning you are my wife. We should put that into practice. I’d like to reconsider our only-for-the-wedding-night agreement.”

Jane’s head turns away for a second, and I’m reminded how I kissed her the morning after. Or rather, didn’t kiss her in response to her plea.

Kiss me. Prove this didn’t mean anything. Did she really believe that night meant nothing to me?

She rolls her head and locks eyes with mine. “You want me to be a secret.”

I keep my focus on massaging her ankle. “Not a secret. Not here.” What’s the harm in playing up the act? We are married. Kissing can be on the table. Sex on the dessert menu. Holding hands can even be an appetizer.

“I swore I’d never be anyone’s secret again.”

My hands halt at Jane’s comment and I look up at her face. “What do you mean?”

“You know about Ripley.” Her voice cracks. Her gaze locked on me.

“Actually, I don’t know anything. I’m sorry I mentioned him the other night. I only have his side of the story.”

Jane huffs and gazes at the ceiling, attempting to pull her leg from my grasp.

I squeeze her calf to get her attention. “Tell me what really happened.”