No. Fuck no.
Had anyone been happy for her? Or were they all just pouting because she hadn’t included them? That she’d done something without their approval first?
Foster had told me about the Edens. He had a lot of respect for Talia’s family. But they had a lot of work to do to earn mine.
Not that it mattered. Sooner rather than later, I’d just be that man who’d married Eloise. A mistake. The guy who’d disappeared after a quick divorce.
Eventually, I’d become a no one. A distant memory.
My fork stabbed a piece of chicken too hard, scraping against the plate.
While I inhaled my food, Eloise picked at hers. Every sip of her sangria looked pained but she seemed determined to drink the glass.
“Have you, um . . . gone to the coffee shop?” she asked, poking at a cube of squash.
“No.”
“I’ve gone every day.” Another piece of squash got added to her fork but she didn’t lift it to her mouth. “Lyla made my favorite pumpkin scones yesterday. She hasn’t made me pay for coffee all week.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“Lyla always makes us pay. Not that any of us mind. We want to support her business. But she’s refused when I offered. And she only bakes with pumpkin in the fall.”
So Lyla was pissed too. Or hurt. Or both.
Eloise set down her fork. “Fake marriage is hard.”
I stabbed another bite of cold chicken, again harder than necessary. Did she need to keep reminding me this was fake? I was well aware.
“My parents asked me to come to the ranch for a family dinner tomorrow night. That’s why I made cookies. And sangria.” She took a drink, swallowing hard. “I think I’ll just stop by the grocery store tomorrow and buy a bottle of wine.”
I chewed, my jaw tensing as I waited for her to invite me along.
But Eloise sipped that sangria, not uttering a word. By the time her glass was empty, the cringing had stopped and my plate was empty, unlike hers.
“Done?” I asked, standing.
She nodded.
I took care of the dishes, then dug my phone from my pocket, pulling up a recipe. Then I rifled through the cupboards for a bowl and mixer.
“What are you doing?” Eloise asked, coming to the kitchen to refill her glass.
I didn’t answer. I just worked with quiet efficiency, knowing she’d figure it out.
When I hit the button on the oven to start it preheating, I knew the burnt smell would return, but hopefully the sugar and cinnamon would beat it out.
And while I made oatmeal raisin cookies, something I hadn’t done in years, Eloise stood beside the island, watching and drinking.
Thirteen minutes after I put the first batch in the oven, they were on a cooling rack and the last dozen was baking.
Now she wouldn’t show up at the ranch empty-handed. Even if she didn’t like oatmeal raisin.
“You’re incredibly sexy in the kitchen,” she said. “And when you smile. Except you don’t smile enough. Why is that?”
I lifted a shoulder, leaning against the counter. Maybe there just wasn’t much to smile about.
She shifted away from the island, taking the space beside mine. “I’m tipsy.”
So whatever popped into that gorgeous head of hers was coming out of her pretty mouth.
“Will you smile for me?”
I smiled.
Her nose scrunched up. “That’s not your real smile. Your eyes aren’t doing the crinkle thing.”
“Crinkle thing?”
She waved it off, lifting her glass. But before she could take another drink, I stole it from her hand, bringing the sangria to my mouth.
Fuck, it was awful.
She’d used too much orange juice or too much rum or too much wine. Maybe too much of everything. It was like drinking diluted sweet and sour sauce.
“Bad, right?” She pouted.
I answered by finishing her glass in a single gulp.
“Jas,” she whispered. Damn, but I liked it when she called me Jas. Her gaze dropped to my mouth. “I don’t want to sleep on the couch anymore.”
Thank fuck. I set the empty glass in the sink. The pitcher would get poured down the drain later. The cookies had a minute left, but I took them out anyway, shutting off the oven and leaving them on the stovetop.
Then I took Eloise’s hand, leading her to the bathroom. With a quick flick on the knob, I turned on the shower.
“Turn around,” I ordered.
She obeyed without hesitation, facing the mirror.
I reached behind my head, yanking off my T-shirt. Then I shoved my shorts and boxers from my legs, kicking them off with my shoes. My cock jutted out, hard and throbbing, aching for the beautiful woman who stood silently staring at our reflection.
When I came up behind her, Eloise’s entire body shivered. I pressed my nose into her hair, breathing in that intoxicating scent. It held a bit of the burnt cookie smell too.
With one hand, I took her face in my grip, turning her chin up so she had to look up at me. She tried to turn around, but I shook my head, keeping her body aimed toward the mirror.
“Have you ever watched yourself come before?”
Her breath hitched. “No.”
“Watch.” Releasing her chin, I nodded to the mirror, already fogging at the edges from the shower’s steam.
Then I reached for the hem of her tee, pulling it up and over her chest. Her sports bra came next, landing with a thump on the floor. When her joggers and panties joined the heap, my hand snaked around her waist, skating across her hip before dropping down her thigh.
“Are you wet for me, angel?” I asked.
She nodded, her breaths coming in pants. Her eyelids fluttered closed the moment I dragged a finger through her slit.
“Fucking soaked,” I murmured against the skin of her shoulder. “Don’t close your eyes.”
Her blue eyes popped open, locking with mine through the glass.
“Watch how exquisite you are when you come.” I stroked her flesh, drawing that wetness from her core to her clit with slow, lazy circles. My cock was rock hard, weeping to sink inside her wet heat. I wedged it in between her ass cheeks.
Eloise whimpered, rocking her hips against my arousal.
I wrapped my other arm around her waist, holding her to me as I worked her clit, faster and faster. Her body began to tremble. Her mouth opened, her breaths heavy. And just like I’d ordered, she kept her eyes locked on our reflection.
“Fuck, but you’re gorgeous.” I slipped my middle finger inside. Then I shifted to her clit again, stroking and flicking. “Look at you. Look at how fucking sexy you are. Who gives a damn if you can bake cookies or make sangria. You’re perfect, El.”
“Jas.” She turned her chin, reaching back to cup my head, drawing my mouth toward hers.