Sincerely, Your Inconvenient Wife (The Harder They Fall, #2)(89)

“Luca,” I cried against his demanding lips. I had to tell him since he clearly didn’t know. “I don’t deserve this.”

His fingers wound in the back of my hair, roughly fisting it. A rumble vibrated his chest. “You don’t get to decide that, do you? It’s me who decides. For months, you’ve been the only thing that’s inspired me. My pretty fucking girl. You’re all I want to paint and sculpt, and I’ll do that until I’m satisfied.”

He tapped my lips when I opened them to deny him. “No more arguing. It’s time for you to tell me how much you like all this.”

I clutched at his shirt, reeling myself into his warmth. “I fucking love it, Luca. I’ve never seen myself the way you do.”

“You will, one day. I’m not anywhere done with you.” His hand skimmed down my side to cup my breast. “Next, I’m going to sculpt these, which means I need you modeling for me naked. It could take hours, probably days. You’ll have to lie there and let me look at you.”

I pressed my lips together to hold back my grin. Leave it to Luca to lighten my mood. He had that way about him, and I loved him for it.

I loved him for it.

I really did love this man. And looking around this studio made me think he might have loved me too.

We weren’t supposed to fall in love. I couldn’t even begin to consider what this would mean for our agreement. But Luca’s mouth slammed into mine, bringing me back to the present and away from the what-ifs.

This man saw me. He understood me like no one ever had. When things died down and Clara was taken care of, we would talk.

If Luca loved me too, then we could figure out what that meant together.

But right now, I needed to show him how vital he was to me and how special he’d made me feel in the best way I knew how.

With my body. My whispered sighs. My arms around him. My mouth on his lips. This was a language in which both of us could say all we wanted without fear and listen without argument.

We spoke that way for hours. Until everything had been said.

Then Luca curled around me in his bed, between cool sheets, and kissed me good night.





Chapter Thirtyeight





Luca





Once my private investigator pulled the first thread, Miller’s secret life began to unravel.

It was worse than I could have imagined.

He wasn’t cheating, but I almost wished he was.

Miller Fairfield was a fucked-up man.

I couldn’t even wrap my head around this stranger who’d been my brother-in-law for years. Had I ever known him?

Within three days, it was all laid out in front of me, and I was staggered by the extent of his depravity. This went beyond what the detective in Tennessee had suspected, and as of today, everything had been turned over to the FBI.

All I wanted to do was go home, sink inside my wife, and forget everything I’d learned. But I was no good. Too angry. Too bitter and confused to go home to Saoirse. She knew what was going on, though, and had promised to be waiting for me whenever I came home.

My fucking wife.

Elliot and Weston dropped everything to meet me for a drink. They both had companies to run, but I didn’t hesitate to ask them to leave early. Neither asked why. They showed up at the bar I’d named at four thirty sharp. Weston was doing better about a work-life balance, but Elliot rarely left work before eight p.m.

Yet he showed like he always did when push came to shove.

I was already one drink in. It had been necessary to settle my blood before I spilled all the ugliness everywhere.

I let them down half their drinks before I started talking.

“Miller has been cyberstalking and harassing a couple who run a business blog in Tennessee for the last six months.”

Elliot put his glass down on the table. “Fuck.”

Weston rubbed the deep line between his brows. “Why the hell has he been doing that?”

I shrugged, but my shoulders were too heavy to lift far. “This is all information I’m getting from the investigator, who’s been in contact with the detective working on the case. Theresa and Albert Graves run the Grave Business Report.”

Elliot frowned. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“Neither have I,” Weston agreed.

“That’s because only a few thousand people read it. I have no fucking clue how Miller found it, but the Graves’ published a few scathing articles about Rossi’s quarterly earnings report and the fluctuation of our stock prices. They had some things to say when I took over as CEO, but, hell, so did a lot of other journalists. I don’t know why Miller picked this blog to become obsessed with, but he did.”

Weston shoved his fingers through his hair. “What did he do exactly?”

“The harassment started with their email address being subscribed to things like the Satanic Temple, Nashville Kink Night, the Green Party…stupid, annoying shit. But annoying in the sense that they were bombarded day after day. And it didn’t stop there. The anonymous social media threats were next. Shut down or go down, basically. Then he doxxed their address online. He listed it for free puppies, on hookup sites, as the host of a swingers’ party…and people were showing up at their door.”

“Jesus,” Elliot uttered. “Is he really that stupid?”