Sweet Retribution (Rydeville High Elite #3)(30)

Charlie slides into the booth after me, sighing deeply as he rubs at the spot between his brows. The waiter hands us some menus, and Charlie orders the most expensive bottle of wine. It doesn’t matter that we’re not of age. People in Rydeville are used to turning a blind eye and bending the rules for the elite. Especially now Charlie is the patriarch of his family and the newly-appointed CEO of Barron Banking and Financial Investment Services Ltd.

“Fuck.” He cricks his head from side to side, running his finger along the collar of his shirt.

“Hey.” I pat his thigh. “It will be okay. Once we get through these next couple days.”

“I’m worried about Mom,” he admits. “She barely comes out of her room, and I hear her sobbing all the time.”

I do too, and I’ve tried to help, but most times, she won’t even open the door to me.

“She needs to speak to a therapist. I know the doctor is attending to her, but pumping her full of valium and sleeping pills isn’t the answer. You don’t want her to end up like poor Sylvia.”

“Do not compare my mother to that woman!” he hisses.

Several heads turn in our direction, and I snatch my hand back, pissed. I grind my teeth to my molars, ignoring his outburst and focusing on the menu, because I can’t be seen to have a blazing argument with him in public in case word gets back to my father.

“Shit, Abby.” He reaches for my hand, but I tuck it under my butt, keeping it away from him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lash out at you.”

I quell my temper, purposely softening my look. “I know you’re under a lot of strain, Charlie, and I’m trying to help, but biting my head off isn’t going to help your cause.” I eyeball him seriously. “You know how I get when I’m pushed.”

A faint smile cracks across his lips. “I happen to like that side of you.” In a lightning-fast move, he darts in, nipping my earlobe with his teeth. His breath fans over the side of my face. “I’m betting you’re a real tigress in the bedroom, and I can’t wait to find out if I’m right.” He plants his hand on my exposed thigh, inching his fingers up higher.

Panic swims up my throat, and I’m ready to pry his fingers off when the waiter arrives with our wine.

Talk about perfect timing.

Charlie removes his hand, and I release the breath I was holding. He pours me a glass of wine, with a knowing smile on his face, and I’m growing uncomfortably hot as he eyes me up and down, his gaze lingering on my thighs and my chest. He clinks his glass against mine. “To us.”

I can barely breathe over the lump wedged in my throat, let alone speak, so I simply smile and tap my glass against his, taking a healthy glug of the chilled, crisp New Zealand Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc. He presses his wet lips to my cheek. “You look stunning by the way, and I’m the envy of every man in here.”

Considering the average age of the patrons is mid-forties, I don’t doubt that. But it’s still gross, and it sticks in my gut. “Thank you.” I kiss his cheek too, holding back my gag the whole time. “But enough about me.” I smile coyly at him over the top of my wine glass. “I want to hear all about your day.”

I pepper him with questions the whole way through dinner, asking him how things are going at the office, hanging off his every word like the docile, attentive little wife I’m aiming to be.

He finds numerous opportunities to touch me, and I’m squirming in the seat, growing more and more uncomfortable. From Charlie’s smug grin, I can tell he thinks his attentions are turning me on. I get immense pleasure from knowing he’s having the opposite effect. My gaze darts around the restaurant, half-expecting to see Kai sulking in the shadows, but that’s ridiculous because I know he wouldn’t do that.

Although he hates this as much as I do, we both understand what we need to do.

And now I’m thinking of Kai.

Wishing it was his hands all over me.

His lips teasing my skin.

His dirty words whispered in my ear.

A sharp pang of longing jumps up and bites me before I put a leash on it.

I’m glad when dinner is over and we leave even if I’m a little anxious about what Charlie expects when we return home. I told him last night I wanted to take it slow, but he seems to have forgotten the memo.

He plants his hand on my thigh, when we’re tucked up in the Land Rover with the heating on full blast, rubbing circles on my thigh with his thumb as he drives.

“What are you doing?” I ask, when we are halfway home and his hand moves farther up my thigh, dangerously close to the hem of my dress.

He flashes me a saucy grin. “What does it look like?”

I slap his hand away. “Are you hard of hearing?”

He frowns.

“I told you I want to take it slow. This isn’t slow.”

“Come on, Abby. We’re not eighth graders.”

“When it comes to sex, you were never an eighth grader. You went from zero to ninety overnight.”

He throws back his head, laughing. “True, but there’s nothing wrong with sex, Abby.” He pins, dark, wanton eyes on me, and I shiver all over. But not in a good way. “It’s natural and healthy. And it’s what married couples do.”

“We haven’t even been married a week,” I counter.