Page 24 of Kingpin's Baby
I swear.
“I showed him into the reception room downstairs.”
“You did the right thing,” I grudgingly acknowledge, and close the door in Harvey’s face. I can almost hear his sigh of exasperation as I walk away.
Back in the bedroom, Ren looks up at me with her soft blue eyes as wide as dinner plates and her hair tousled. By my hands, last night. She’s naked, but has pulled the covers up to her chin, as though she could sneak underneath and disappear.
“They’ve come for me,” she says in a tiny voice.
“Yep.” While the temptation to get right back into that bed and rut her into the mattress again is almost unbearable, I don’t.Vanquishing our foes first. More baby-making second. “We’re going to face them. Together.”
I pull open our wardrobe and there’s a glow of satisfaction as I see all her new clothes hung next to my suits. I dress as usual. Perfunctory. Quick even, a necktie and a jacket, neat cufflinks.
“What should I wear?”
She regards the clothes doubtfully, her eyebrows pinched. She’s slipped on a matching set of lacy white underwear and looks delectable. Good enough to eat.
So far as I’m concerned, her leggings and T-shirt are perfect. But something else is needed right now to feel confident as my princess.
“That one.” It’s a soft blue like her eyes, floor length, and has layers of sheer fabric.
“But…”
I unhook it from the hanger and shake it out, raising my eyebrows when she hesitates.
“I haven’t even showered,” she grumbles as she steps into the dress and I slide it up her body, pull up the zip and caressing the dip of her spine as I do.
“Good, then you’ll smell freshly fucked by your husband.”
She lets out a quiet sound of embarrassment and arousal, and I nudge her to support herself on the chest of drawers as I sort through the shoes under all her new dresses. I find a pair that are obscenely sexy. Straps, a high heel. I’d like to see Ren in these and nothing else. Instead, I kneel at her feet and drag her skirt up, caressing her calf.
“Lift.”
She does as I say, and I slide the shoe into place. She wobbles a bit in one heel, grasping my shoulder as I put the other one on then allow her skirt to drop.
Guiding her to the mirror, I stand behind her, and admire my wife.Mine.
“Mrs Booth.” Her cheeks pinken as I call her that. “You look beautiful.”
Her hair is mussed from our night together, but that simply adds to her sexiness, even though the dress is relatively modest.
“Ready?”
She nods, and while I’d like to address the uncertainty in her expression, we have to deal with Battersea first.
By the time we’re downstairs, outside the door to the reception room where Battersea is waiting, she’s shaking. I smooth my hands over her shoulders and kiss her forehead. It’s tempting to say things, make promises. But I’ve already told her. What she needs is proof.
That I love her. That I’ll do anything—risk a mafia war at very least—to keep her by my side. This might have begun as a marriage of convenience, but last night, I meant every word.
Battersea is lounging in a chair when we enter the room, tapping his fingers in what he must think is an intimidating show of power. It works on Ren, who blanches.
“Battersea.”
“Why don’t you send your men away, Fulham?” he drawls. “We both know you’re part of that silly little London mafia club that pinky promises not to hurt anyone and I gave up my weapons at the door. We can settle this in a civilised manner.”
I guide Ren to a sofa and sit, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and tucking her in close. Then I nod to my men, who have been keeping guard. Battersea has just revealed he knows nothing about me, or the London Mafia Syndicate.
“You didn’t turn up for our appointment yesterday, Miss Smith?—”
