I was careful not to touch him as he held the door open for me and I went inside the conference room. My knees were weak. My heart was weak. Neither could withstand physical contact, and we needed to talk.
I sat and began to unpack the containers of food I’d brought as he poured water into two glasses on the other side of the table from me.
I passed him his plastic knife and fork. “Thanks,” he said, smiling carefully, like he was holding back.
“You’re welcome,” I replied, tapping my finger against the carton of food in my hand. The last thing I wanted to do was eat.
“I’m sorry,” he said, but I shook my head.
“We did that,” I said. “You apologized and explained. That’s not where we are.”
The crease between Ryder’s eyebrows deepened. “Where are we then?”
“In your office, having lunch.”
He laughed tentatively and leaned back. “You’re funny.”
“I know.” I smiled and my body relaxed into the chair. This was who we were. This easiness between us—the immediate intimacy—it wasn’t born out of a contract. It was just who we were together.
“Are we husband and wife?” he asked.
“I’m scared,” I admitted, poking the noodles in front of me with my fork. It wasn’t what I’d planned to say, but no less true.
“Whatever it is that you’re afraid of, I’ll stand between you and it my whole life,” he said.
“But I’m scared of us. Of me. Of my choices. Of losing you.”
“You’ll never lose me,” he said. “I just want to make this right between us. Tell me how.”
Oh God. Was it really as simple as he made it sound?
“You can’t promise that I’ll never lose you. No one can. And that’s what’s so terrifying. My first divorce . . .” I closed my eyes as I remembered the pain. But it was a memory of the pain that I felt, not the pain itself. “It was like pouring bleach over everything I ever wanted. I had to start again. And I’m not sure I know if I could ever do that again. We were never the beginning of anything—just a means to an end, an adventure.” It was so different with Ryder and I didn’t know if that was good or bad.
“But isn’t that always how the best beginnings start? When you don’t know what to expect?”
“Maybe.” Silence stretched between us. “I know I can’t just walk away. You mean too much to me.”
He sucked in a breath. “Scarlett, we can make this work.”
The surety in his voice wound through me, a comfort I’d missed. I dropped my fork and dabbed at the corners of my eyes with my fingertips. I didn’t want to cry, but his words somehow released me of a burden—I believed him. His chair scraped against the floor, and before I knew it he was touching me, pulling me onto his lap. “I hate to see you cry.”
“It’s relief.”
“What is?” he asked.
“That you didn’t throw me out for being crazy. That it was more than a contract for you too. That . . . that I’m here with you.”
“Nothing makes sense without you,” he said. “I feel like the last few weeks I’ve been treading water until I got you back. All these years without parents, I’m so used to being independent, self-reliant and you come along and within months, I need you just to function.”
I turned into his chest, pressing my cheek against his shirt. I knew exactly what he meant. I felt more myself when I was in his arms.
“We went into this marriage as strangers and now—you’re my lover, my teammate, my soulmate. The woman I love. You’re my wife.”
“So, where do we go from here?” I asked.
“I want to be married to you,” he said.
I looked up at him. “We are married already unless . . .” Had he processed the papers?
“I know, and I burned the papers you signed. I meant that I want to be with you. Stay married to you—share a life with you.”
I lifted my head and kissed his jaw. “I want that, too. I just need to know that you’ll always let me in here,” I said, scraping my fingers through his hair. “I accept that people change and maybe feelings do, too, but not out of the blue. I need you to share your feelings with me. I was blindsided by my first husband. That can’t happen to me again. Not with you.”
“I can do that. I love you.”
“I love you, too. More than I thought I could love a person.”
The corners of his mouth twitched but he resisted a grin. Instead he dipped his head and pressed his lips gently against mine.
“Does the door lock in this conference room?” I asked as I placed my hand against his chest. “This wife wants to fuck her husband.”
“Well, my duchess, I’m going to insist I take you home for that. I’m not willing to share your screams with everyone waiting in reception.”
“Well, the car better be ready. Because I’ve waited long enough.”
Thirty-One
Ryder
I slammed the door shut and pressed her against the walnut surface with my hip as I cupped her head, tipping it up slightly as I slid my tongue through her lips. How I’d held out from fucking her in the car I had no idea.
Relief had given way to desire. I’d been prepared to do anything to get her back, but the fact she’d walked through the door to my office and laid it all out—her fears, her need for me—gave me a hard-on the size of Africa. The balls on this woman. She was so brave, so perfect. And I was a lucky fucking bastard to be married to her.
I turned the heavy metal lock to the side of her head. “I won’t let anything disturb this,” I said. Now I knew I had her back, I needed to make up for lost time.
I grabbed the bottom of her dress with both hands and pulled it up, my fingernails scraping against her skin. I wanted my naked body pressed against hers for hours. Raw instinct echoed within me, urging me to cover her body with mine. My fingers found her lace underwear and I yanked them down, kneeling as I did.
“Ryder,” she whispered, threading her hands through my hair. She gasped as I dragged my tongue over her slit and deep into her folds. She tasted like mine, and I wanted to swallow every last drop. Her clit throbbed against my mouth and her hips bucked off the door. I grabbed her thighs, forcing them wider and then pushed her hips back. I’d never have a problem kneeling before my duchess, but there’d never be a time when I wasn’t in charge when it came to her orgasm.
As her head fell forward, her silky black hair provided a curtain around her pulsing, wet pussy, her moans growing louder and louder. “It’s been so long—I can’t stop—Ryder.” I dug my tongue in deeper, pressing my thumbs into the sensitive flesh just above her pubic bone. My dick pressed against my zipper at the thought of being able to bring her to climax with just my mouth. It was as if there was so much connection between us, the emotional and mental brought us to a point where we were constantly on the brink with each other.
Her hands tightened in my hair as she cried out my name. Her body began to shudder and I stilled. Slowly, I licked up to her clit, soothing her pulsing sex as she came down from her orgasm.