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I crawl out from under her legs and kneel at her feet. Emery's knees remain bent, her glistening flesh still exposed. I want to shove my face between her thighs and make her come again, but I shouldn't stay any longer.
My gaze shifts to the door.
"It's okay," my wife says. "You can leave."
I swing my legs over the bed's edge, hesitate for only a second, then lean over to kiss her forehead. "Good night, Emery."
She forces a half-hearted smile. "Good night, Rory."
And I slide off the bed, shuffling toward the door.
On the threshold, I pause. "I ran into Graham in the village today. He's developed an odd fascination with you, asked how you were adjusting to your new home. Cannae understand what he wants, but be cautious if you see him. Anything you say might be printed in his grimy paper."
"I won't tell him about our arrangement or the contract."
"Graham has a way of wheedling things out of people."
With two fingers, she draws a cross over her heart. "I'm wheedle-proof, promise."
I believe her. But I'm not worried about what she might accidentally tell Graham. I'm concerned about what lengths he'll go to in his quest to punish me for doing my job too well. Maybe I won't share a bed with my wife, but I still want to protect her.
Back in my bedroom, I lie awake for an hour while I try to sort the mess I've made of my life—and Emery's. Though I have no solutions, I do come up with stopgap measures. And at breakfast the next morning, I explain them to my wife.
I march into the kitchen and announce, "I'm having a gate installed at the end of the drive. No car will approach the house without permission again. The entrance doors are to remain locked at all times. I'll give you a remote for opening the gate once it's installed."
Then I leave the house.
My way of explaining might not be appreciated, but I don't do well with soft-pedaling things. My clients usually appreciate my directness. I don't know if my wife feels that way, but I didn't stay to listen to her complaints. I'm an erse. I know that, and I don't need more reminders of my countless flaws.
For the next two days, I avoid my wife during the day and shag her relentlessly every night. Then I hurry back to my room to hide from the woman I convinced to marry me. And every night, she seems more forlorn when I walk out the door. I get a pang in my chest, but I think that might be gas. The alternative is nothing I dare consider.
But I can't stop all my ridiculous impulses. Since I refuse to sleep in the same bed with her, I let myself indulge in another kind of intimacy. Every day, I hunt down my wife and kiss her. At first, I simply peck a kiss on her lips and hurry away. But soon, I'm teasing her with playful kisses and long, lingering ones that turn into extended sessions, with our lips and tongues speaking all the words neither of us wants to say. Or maybe I'm the only one who can't speak the truth. No, I won't think about that. Not now. I want to relish these days with her and the sexy smiles she gives me every time I stride up to her and surprise her with a kiss.
I even kiss her outdoors, under the larch trees, while birds serenade us.
Emery takes to driving out to visit members of my family, because she says she needs to "find a new life's purpose." I assume she's given up on reforming me, and I can't decide how I feel about that. She drives out to the homes of Erica and Lachlan, then Aidan and Calli, though she doesn't share the details of those visits with me.
Why should she? I haven't treated her like my wife. Maybe I could be a bit more accommodating without risking that she might fall in love with me.
All day, every day, I work. Except when I'm kissing my wife.
One afternoon, we've just separated our lips after a sensual kiss that's left me halfway to an erection when I feel the need to say something moronic.
I coil a lock of her hair around my finger, studying the strands to avoid looking at my wife. "You haven't come to my office lately."
"Thought you'd rather be alone."
"It seems…quiet without your visits."
She stares at me, clearly stunned by my foolish statement.
"I'll see you at dinner, then?" I ask.
"Yes, at dinner."
I release her hair and nod crisply. "Good."
Then I rush back to my office.
