Page 8 of A Wife's Duty

He cupped her cheek. It was such a gentle move. Was this going to happen just before the pain?

Only there was no pain. He simply tilted her head back and forced her to look at him, although there was no real force, nor pain.

“What is it?” Boone asked.

Was he concerned?

“It’s nothing.”

“Tell me.”

He didn’t like lies, but she was scared. Should she tell him the truth and run the risk of looking like a fool? Should she lie? Lying was out of the question. She didn’t want him to be angry at her.

“I ... uh, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”

“Why would you have embarrassed me?”

“Because ... I was a little ... you know, I was excited about going out to lunch with you, and I know that shouldn’t be the case.”

She looked down at his dress shirt, hating how her cheeks heated.

“I’m not your father,” Boone said.

This took her by surprise and she looked up to him. “What?”

“I know your father was not a nice man. I know he hurt you, but while you are mine, there is nothing you need to fear. I want to enjoy this time. To love it.”

Was he being serious? Was this a trap?

He leaned in close. “You are going to have more freedom than you have ever known, Lucia.”

The way he said her name was like a dirty word rolling off his tongue, but in a good way. Sexy, sensual. She felt a little strange, like her body had heated up.

“And that is what I want. I do believe you’ve been told to give your husband what he wants, and I want you to enjoy yourself, along with every opportunity presented to you.” He kissed her cheek.

And they were walking once again. She didn’t know if it was a trick or not, but she didn’t care. He’d kissed her cheek, and now she had an overwhelming need to touch her cheek, but she didn’t.

She was able to hold it together long enough to walk into a small café with him. No one looked terrified when they saw him. His men followed, but they took different seats.

Boone seated them in the center of the café, at a lovely table. There was a pretty red checkered cloth covering the table, that looked so crisp. A small menu was resting between the salt-and-pepper pots. She loved how quaint it was.

He picked up the menus and handed one to her.

Again, this was a new experience for her. She took the menu, feeling a little out of place. She was used to having someone order for her. Not that her family took her out to many cafés or restaurants. She often stayed home.

The waitress came forward.

“Mr. Grinder,” she said.

“Nancy, how are you doing?” Boone asked.

The waitress was a lovely-looking woman. A small amount of makeup on her face, an easy smile, some greys to her brown hair.

“I’m doing good. We’re doing good.”

“No trouble?”

“Not for a long time, thanks to you.” Nancy placed a hand on his shoulder.

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