She nodded, but didn't look convinced. "I think I'd just like to take a long, hot bath and get cleaned up. Maybe order dinner in . . ."
I understood; she was asking to be alone. "Of course. I'll go get settled in the other room." Kira nodded and I moved to the door separating her room from the rest of the suite, picking up my overnight bag from the floor where I'd left it. I would have liked to make myself comfortable in the room she was sleeping in, but after what happened with Kira's father and her ex-fiancé, I knew this was not the time to push my physical agenda on her. I felt a new sense of guilt for trying to push anything on her at all—it seemed she'd had enough of that for one lifetime.
"Oh and Grayson," she said, turning halfway toward me. "Thank you for what you said to my father about me being your wife . . ."
I paused. "You are my wife."
She smiled softly. "You know what I mean. You made it sound like I was your real wife. It was very convincing."
I frowned slightly, but wasn't sure what to say. It was true—she wasn't my real wife. If she were, I would know what to do right now to clear that haunted look in her eyes. I just nodded instead. "I'll see you in the morning."
I went into my room and took a shower, washing the road dust from my body and trying to cleanse the feel of the confrontation with Kira's father from my mind. Everything in me had wanted to punch Frank Dallaire in his face when he'd slapped Kira. But I'd held back. Assaulting someone would only send me back to prison and I wouldn't risk it. In that way, the incident had served to remind me of my shame, brought home my limitations as a man. If I needed to, how would I even fight for my woman now? My woman. No, perhaps Kira wasn't my woman in that sense, but the point still held weight.
I sighed, moving my mind back to Frank Dallaire. I'd never paid a whole lot of attention to San Francisco politics, but I’d perceived him to be a well-liked mayor, tough, but fair, a friend to minorities and the middle class. I guessed it just went to show what a game politics was. I found it hard to believe a man who treated his beautiful daughter so abominably was much of a real friend to anyone but himself.
And now he was my temporary father-in-law. God, what had I gotten myself involved in? I could only hope Kira was right—he'd put some spin on it for the public if need be, and let us both go about our business. Why did I have a bad feeling that wouldn't be the case? I shook it off, got dressed, and went to sit on the balcony for a little while, wondering what Kira was doing in the other room. I couldn't help but picture her naked body submerged in water, her skin slick and wet, that wild hair falling in disarray from whatever clip she'd used to hold it back. Heat surged in my veins, but at the same time, I wanted to take her in my arms and soothe the hurt and embarrassment I’d seen on her face as I'd left the room. I didn't know how to classify these new and confusing feelings. But sitting there, something powerful grew inside me—a masculine need to possess my wife, combined with a protectiveness I wasn't prepared to feel.
Stop this. Stop this right now.