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A part of me appreciates how slow he is taking this relationship, but another part of me, having experienced his hot kisses, and the way his hands move over me, wants more.
I want his hands racing over my body. I want him inside me, around me, surrounding me, and as I stare at the reflection of us in the glass of the huge oven behind us, I wonder when I started putting my feelings into words when it comes to him.
11
Philip
Something is wrong with Charlotte. She is agitated, moving from room to room, a frown on her face. From the number of brownies on the kitchen counter, I have come to the realization that my wife likes to bake when she is nervous or frustrated.
I glance up from my laptop when I hear the clatter of the baking dish.
“Ah, Charlotte? Is everything okay?”
She throws me a dirty look, as if she expects me to know the answer to that. I rack my brain, wondering if I said or did something to piss her off.
We have been holed up in the apartment for a few days. It doesn’t bother me because I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on, but maybe she is starting to feel cooped up.
“I have nothing to do,” she growls.
“Don’t you have a class in a few days?” I ask, hesitantly.
“That’s a few days.” She glowers at me. She sinks into an armchair and frowns. “All my books are still at my apartment.” I blink.
“So, send someone to get them.” Maybe that is the wrong answer, because she starts to look more annoyed.
“I want to go myself.” I tuck my tongue into my cheek.
“I’m not seeing the problem here.”
She fidgets.
“I don’t want to go with the bodyguards. It feels weird.” I straighten.
“Did they say anything to you?” Hearing my dangerous tone, she immediately shakes her head.
“No. I’m just not comfortable going with them. And they won’t let me go alone. I tried.”
“You tried going out alone?” My eyes narrow, and she crosses her arms over her chest defensively.
“I wanted to check out the repairs on the bakery. And there is nothing subtle about those two.” I want to tell her off, but even I know this is too much for her. I close my laptop.
“I’ll take you. You can have a look at your bakery, pick up your books, and then we can go out for dinner.”
“For dinner? We don’t have to do that.” She looks uneasy at that, and I frown.
“Why not? We’ve been coope
d up for days, avoiding reporters. It’ll be a nice change.”
When she has no counter-argument and leaves to change, I find myself curious at her behavior. Hearing my phone ring, I see my sister’s ID on the screen.
“Hey, Agatha.” She cuts right to the chase.
“Erik released a statement this morning, on a morning show. About how he was forced to leave Charlotte at the altar because he found out about her cheating on him.” Molten fury rolls through me.
“What?”
“Yeah.” Agatha sounds as pissed off as I am. “And get this – he made it clear that the guy Charlotte was supposedly sleeping with was not you.”
