On the same couch where she’d straddled him, and he’d pushed into her body for the first time.
Jealousy, ripe and blistering, ripped through him. The power of it rocked him, and it was only the unprecedented intensity that unlocked its grip on him. Dragging in a breath, he forced the destructive emotion under a sheet of ice.
As if she’d heard his deep inhale, her head lifted, and their eyes met.
Surprise rounded her eyes, and an instant later, a smile started to curve her mouth, but that stopped as she scanned Darius’s face. It shifted into a frown, before smoothing into a carefully blank expression.
“Darius, I didn’t hear you arrive,” she finally said, voice neutral as she rose to her feet.
What did that expression hide?
Isobel is not who she pretends to be.
“Obviously,” he drawled, then shifted his attention to the tall man who now stood beside her. Handsome, wearing an expensive gray suit and about Darius’s age. Green-tinged acid ate at his gut.
Faith used to wait until he’d left for the office, then sneak men into their house. Their bed had been a favorite location for her trysts. She’d gleefully thrown that information at him. Part of her pleasure had been in knowing that, at night, Darius would lie in the same bed where she’d fucked other men.
And here Isobel stood with some stranger. Playing the same game? After all, she hadn’t expected him home from work this early. He studied her. Seeking signs of deceit, of guilt, but not expecting to find any. She was more of an expert than that.
“Where’s Aiden?” he asked.
Translation:Where is Aiden while you’re down here...entertaining?
From the narrowing of her eyes, she didn’t require a translator. “He’s upstairs, taking a nap. Ms. Jacobs is with him,” she replied, tone flat. Turning to the man beside her, she waved a hand in Darius’s direction. “Ken, let me introduce you to Darius King. Darius, Ken Warren.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. King,” the other man greeted, striding forward with his hand outstretched. “Ms. Hughes speaks highly of you.”
“Does she now?” he murmured, and after a pause in which he stared down at the extended palm, he clasped it. “A shame I can’t say the same.”
“Thank you, Ken,” Isobel said, walking forward and shooting Darius a look that possessed a wealth offuck you. “I appreciate you coming all the way out here. I bet house calls are rare in your profession.”
“Not as much as you’d think.” He chuckled. “Call me if you have any questions.” Nodding at Darius, he said, “Again, nice to meet you.”
She ushered him out of the room, and Darius moved into the study, stalking toward the bar. He poured Scotch into a glass and then downed it, welcoming the burn.
With his back to the door, he didn’t see her reenter the room, but he felt it. The air seemed to shift, to shimmer like steam undulating off a hot sidewalk after a summer shower. That’s how aware he was of her. He could sense the moment she entered a damn room.
Pivoting, he leaned a hip against the edge of the bar, taking another sip of the alcohol as he watched her approach.
“You are an asshole,” she hissed, the anger she’d concealed in front of Ken Warren now on vivid display. It flushed her cheeks and glittered in her eyes like stars as she stalked to within inches of him. “I don’t know what happened at the office, but you had no right to be so rude to him and to me. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong is that I came home to find a strange man in my house, with my soon-to-be-wife, sitting on the same couch where I’ve fucked her,” he drawled. “So forgive me if my mood is a little...off.”
“I knew it,” she murmured. For a long moment, she studied him as if trying to decipher a code that baffled her. “Iknew it,” she repeated, a soft scoff accompanying it. “I took one look at your face and could’ve written a transcript of your thoughts.I caught her with her latest screw. Inmyhouse. I knew she wouldn’t be able to keep her legs closed for long.Am I close?” The sound that escaped her lips was a perversion of laughter. “You’re so predictable, Darius.”
She whipped around and stalked to the couch. Leaning over the arm, she picked up a small, dark brown box and marched back to him.
“Here.” She thrust the case at him. “Ken is the husband of one of the moms I met at the Mommy Center Aiden and I go to on Tuesdays and Thursdays. When I found out he was a jeweler, I thought of you. Take it,” she ordered, shoving the item at him again.
A slick, oily stain spread across his chest and crept up his throat as he accepted the box. As soon as he did, she moved backward, inserting space between them that yawned as wide as a chasm.
He clenched his jaw, locking down the need to reach for her and pull her back across that space. Instead he shifted his attention to the case. It sat in the middle of his palm. A jeweler. She’d said Ken Warren was a jeweler.
With his heart thudding dully against his sternum, he pried the top off. And it ceased beating at all as he stared down at the gold pocket watch nestled on a bed of black silk. A detailed rendering of a lion was etched on the face of it, the amber jewels of its eyes gleaming, its mouth stretched wide as if in midroar. Awed, he stroked a fingertip over the excellent craftsmanship and artistry.
It was...beautiful.
“When I saw it, I knew it was yours. A lion for both your first and last names.Darius, which means royalty, and thenKing,” she murmured. “I thought it would be a perfect addition to your and your father’s collection.”
