The Wrong Wife (Morally Grey Billionaires #5)(61)

Knight





"Who the fuck is that?" I grab the drink Rick offers me and toss it back.

"That, is Declan’s father."

"Huh, fucker’s old enough to be her father."

"He’s in his late forties, not that old."

I scowl as he takes her hand in his, and then the bastard kisses her knuckles. He. Kisses. Her. Knuckles. A growl rumbles up my chest. I take a step forward, but Rick squeezes my shoulder. "Easy, ol’ chap."

I try to shake him off, but someone grips my other arm. "You sure you’re ready for this?" Edward shoots me a sideways glance. "Once you go down this path, your future as you know it is going to change."

I hesitate.

That’s when Philippe turns and gestures to her. She steps forward, and he cups her elbow and leads her toward the door that leads out onto the opposite side of the garden.

The fuck? My vision tunnels. That anger simmering in the background of my mind begins to bubble. All of my senses focus. I can’t see my future, so anything would be better than the dark quicksand that spreads out in front of me. The only patch of light is her. And I’ll be damned if I’m letting go of her that easily. I shake off the restraining hands, then stalk through the room.

Cade steps forward, looks at my face and freezes. "Are you okay?" He frowns.

Without bothering to reply, I brush past him and out the door, catching a glimpse of them as they disappear around a curve in the garden path. I take the steps two at a time, then quicken my pace. I jog up the path around the curve, past a few flower beds, until I burst into a clearing. This one has a fountain in the center. I walk around it and freeze. They’re sitting on a bench, heads bent toward each other. They’re not touching, but that doesn’t mean anything.

She looks up at something he says and smiles. Her features are soft, her hair flowing about her shoulders. The neckline of her dress dips in the front, showing her cleavage. I tighten my fists at my side. The wind blows her hair back from her face. She shivers. I’m too far away, but I swear, I can feel the goosebumps arise on her skin. And then Philippe pulls off his jacket.

He places it around her shoulders, and something inside me snaps. My feet don’t seem to touch the ground as I stalk over. They’re so engrossed in each other, they don’t hear me approach. It’s only when I’m standing in front of them that she glances up.

"Oh, it’s you?" She scowls.

Without replying, I yank the jacket from around her shoulders and fling it aside. Then I shrug off my own jacket and plant it over her shoulders. For good measure, I button it over her chest. My fingers brush the skin above her cleavage, and she shudders. Good. She isn’t as impervious as she’d like me to believe. Of course, I know that, but the additional confirmation soothes something inside of me.

"We’re leaving," I snap.

"Okay, bye." She turns to Philippe. "You were saying, Phil."

"Phil?" I growl. "You called him Phil?"

"That’s his name; isn’t it, Philly?" She smiles at him sweetly.

Philippe smirks. "As I was telling Pen here—"

"Don’t fucking call her that."

"And you are—?" He tilts his head.

"Her boss," I growl.

"Well, I’m the man who’s going to take her out on a date, so—"

The anger in my gut roars forward. I grab his collar and haul him to his feet. "Get the fuck away from her."

Philippe raises an eyebrow. "You establishing a claim?"

I growl.

"Are you?"

He looks between my eyes. I tighten my fingers on his collar and… Fuck, fuck, fuck, am I really going to do this? Am I going to say aloud what’s been bouncing around in my mind, in my heart, in the corners of my gut, in my every pore? I want her. I need her. I cannot do without her… for one more night. And this time I’m going to take what she offered. Fuck propriety.

"Yes," I snap.

Philippe seems taken aback.

Penny gasps.

Then, the wanker slowly smiles. "So, you’re saying—"

I shove him to the side. "Get away from her and keep away. If I find you sniffing around again, I’ll shoot you."

Philippe straightens his collar, then winks at Penny. Motherfucking twatface. I throw up my fists and take a step forward, and he holds up his hands. "I’m leaving, just going to"—he bends and picks up his jacket and dusts it off—"get what’s mine."

"You stay away from what’s mine, you hear me?" I snap.

Philippe touches two fingers to his forehead in mock salute, then walks off whistling. I scowl after him, then turn on my woman—not my woman, my assistant. Yep, that’s what she is. I paid her bills. I own her. She’s mine. Until I decree otherwise.

"Get up." I jerk my chin.

She sets her jaw and folds her arms across her chest, or tries to, since my jacket is buttoned over her arms.

"This is bullshit." She tries to undo the buttons, and I make a growling noise at the back of my throat.

"What?" She frowns.

"You’re forgetting your position."

"You mean as your employee?" She jumps up to her feet. "Well, I have news for you. I quit." She turns to leave, and I step in her path.