Page 38 of Accidental Groom
I stop dead at the top of the stairs.
The sound of the microwave closing and loudbeeps from each press of the buttons makes me bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.
She’s in the fucking house.
But then the front door opens and the alarm chirps once throughout the house, and I force myself to move again, hoping at least to intercept before Nathan walks right into her. It’s not that he doesn’t know — of course he does, every does by now, but it's the inevitableconversationthat I’m desperate to avoid.
And, of course, I’m not successful. Why, for once, would something go right?
My bare foot hits the wood floor at the bottom of the stairs, my head snapping toward the kitchen. Nathan’s already made it through the foyer and stands in the doorway between them, his brows knitted as he watches her rummage through my refrigerator like a raccoon. Iknewslacking on the grocery deliveries to her little cottage would come back and bite me in the ass, but the temptation, theknowingthat she’d end up in the house occasionally and I’d see her, was enough to make me far too lax about it. And the tight little shorts and oversized shirt she’s wearing as a sad excuse for pajamas don’t help it any.
Elena nearly drops the glass of orange juice in her hand as she turns back to the microwave, spotting Nathan in the doorway. “Holy—Uh—Hi?”
“Elena,” I say coolly, crossing the space as quickly as my legs will take me while still seeming somewhat casual. The scent of roses hits my nostrils, and I pluck the glass from her grasp before my sudden intrusion startles her more, setting it safely on the counter beside her. “This is Nathan Locke, one of the property managers on the Switzerland build.”
I wrap an arm around her waist from behind and pull her gently against me, her back to my chest, biting back the shiver that threatens to overtake me as her rear presses against my groin.Christ.She stiffens, only slightly, before remembering exactly what we’re supposed to be.
“Nathan, this is Elena. Mywife.”
Nathan blinks once, twice, before nodding either to me or to himself. “Right, of course, my apologies,” he says, offering his hand and setting his briefcase on the counter. “I was in Switzerland during the wedding, unfortunately. I… heard, though.”
Elena swallows, her throat working just slightly as I press my nose against the side of her head. “Shake it,” I whisper, so low I’m not even entirely sure she’s heard me.
But her hand darts out, giving him a firm shake, and I squeeze her gently in approval. The obedience of it sends blood pooling exactly where it shouldn’t.
“Hi,” she says again, but this time it's accompanied by that grin I’d seen a handful of times at events she was running or when she’d signed the original contract — people-pleasing, practiced, andfake. “Nice to meet you. You must be one of the men keeping Harry locked in his office twenty-four-seven.”
An almost startled laugh slips from him. “Apologies for that, it’s been quite hectic lately. I imagine it’s not easy to settle into married life when your husband needs to constantly dip out for calls or meetings.”
“Or when property managers turn up unannounced before I’ve even begun work,” I add, shooting him a glare as I press a kiss against her temple.
“I told you, Harry, Iemailed.”
“And look what good that’s done,” I say dryly.
The microwave beeps behind me, chirping its finishing song, and Elena goes to twist from my arms. I stop her, tightening my hold just enough to be insistent. Her body warmth bleeds through the loose shirt, heating my fingers, and the little flush crawling up her neck tells me she can absolutely feel exactly what having her rear pressed against me has elicited.
“What, exactly, was important enough to warrant a visit?” I ask.
“Right.” Nathan clears his throat, his gaze flicking between us, lingering on the way I’m holding her. “The weather out there the last few days has been a nightmare. They’ve had to push back the foundation work again as of yesterday evening — mudslide, apparently. There’s no structural damage; it happened at the very edge of the property, but it’s cut off the road going in. Site’s inaccessible until it’s cleared up, three weeks, maybe four.”
I huff a breath out my nose. “We’re already behind. We can’t wait another three weeks.”
“I know,” he says, flicking open his briefcase and slipping his tablet free. “I didn’t want to authorize a pivot without checking with you first.”
His screen flickers to life, and a handful of images wait to be opened. I click the first, opening an image of the gate to the site, mud and sticks and parts of trees reaching nearly waist-high. “Fuck.”
“Is there not another entrance?” Elena asks casually. Her hand reaches out for her orange juice, but I grab it before she can, placing it in her hand.
“No,” I answer. “We’re going to add in a back entrance, but that’s further down the line. We don’t have the tarmac laid for a road to it yet. Plus, the fence is still up back there.”
Her brows knit. “It’s just a chain link fence. Remove it now.”
“We’d have to get a gate put in immediately,” Nathan counters. “Otherwise we’ll have rogue Swiss teens wandering the site at night.”
Elena shrugs. “So put a gate in. Lay the tarmac. Clear the route for the back entrance. If you’re going to do it anyway, what’s the harm?” She sips at her orange juice as if that’s the most nonchalant suggestion in the world.
“That’s at least two months down the line, darling.” My throat tightens, just a hair, at that word slipping out far tooeasily. “We’d be jumping the gun only to have it finished by the time they can access the front gate again?—”
