Page 69 of Merging Wright

“Do not fall for him,” I demand, leaning on the surface.

Jane’s brows rise, matching my position. “What are you suggesting?” Her words are short, sharp, and exaggerated.

Swiping a hand over my face, I try to settle my nerves. “Nothing. I didn’t mean anything. I just . . . I don’t want you to meet with him alone. Okay?”

“Because you think I’d have sex with him?” Her tone is incredulous as if she’s read my thoughts. “I’m so easy? Like Ripley suggested. Or maybe you just think I’m desperate? Eager and willing?” Her voice rises with every accusation.

Fuck no. “No, I don’t—”

“I wouldn’t have sex with Myles.” Jane levels me with a glare that could tear down the bridge over the river. “I’m not attracted to Myles, but this isn’t about attraction, is it? This is about your history with him . . . and sex.” She pauses. “Sex with me.”

Her fiery eyes scan my face as if reading my guilt. “You want sex with me. Was that what you were going to propose the other night? No strings attached. Just sex. And for how long? The months while we hide out down here? I can be your secret fuck buddy until the clock runs out.”

Jane blows out a breath and her lips tremble. “You might call your position with other women honesty. They knew what they were getting from you. Am I right, Mr. Wright? Sex only for a night. No repeats. Isn’t that how you work?” She hastily points between us. “But this will not be friends with benefits.”

“No, you’re my wife,” I remind her. My voice is surprisingly calm while I’m anything but. My heart races. My dick is hard. I want to reach across the table and spread her over it.

“It’s just a label, Mr. Wright. A means to an end. And right now, we aren’t even friends.” With that, Jane rounds the table, leaving me stunned.

How did things get so derailed?

Myles. It’s always Myles.

32

Playlist: “Meant to Be” – Bebe Rexha ft. Florida Georgia Line

[Jane]

I’m drowning.

The water around me is cold and murky, and I can’t breathe. My chest tightens. My heart rate skyrockets. And something comes into my line of sight.

A flathead catfish swims toward me, his ugly mug smiling at me.

I’m going to die. The thought hits me hard, but it doesn’t feel like drowning will kill me.

Something is heavy inside my chest, holding me underwater. I kick my legs, but I don’t move. I gulp in more of the river, filling my lungs, burning my open eyes.

The fish swims closer.

I gaze upward, sensing the surface above me from the trickle of sunshine streaming over my head. I will myself to fight. My body jolts as my legs tighten in an attempt to propel myself upward.

I fail.

In a last-ditch effort, I open my mouth to scream despite the liquid around me—

“Hey.” A sleepy but deeply masculine voice croaks behind me. My lids blink open, eyes assessing my surroundings while the remainder of my body is frozen in place.

I’m in Camilla’s home. I’m in bed. Mach is behind me. We had a fight.

“You okay?” His gravelly voice whispers near my ear. His concern has me spinning despite the hammering in my chest and the ache of my ribs. I face Mach and curl my head into his chest.

“Bad dream?” His voice rasps as his hand coasts along my spine.

I nod against his warm skin. I can’t clearly see him in the darkness of the room, so I let my fingertips be my eyes. Reaching for his chest, I flatten my palm against the tightness of his pecs. His heart beats in a steady rhythm beneath my touch.

Mach exhales over me, his arms wrapping around my back. Our knees knock. Mach cups the back of my thigh and tugs my leg between his.