She curled her hands and waited for him to make his move. Wooing her was his project. He’d said it was his job to make her interested in sex—she only had to stay receptive.
Except sex wasn’t the core of their problem, was it?
His thumb dug firmly into her insole, and Amandine bit her lower lip to contain a moan rising deep from her chest. Oh wow. She’d always known he had great hands, but this was unexpected.
He continued his ministrations, his fingers firm and confident, like they knew all the spots hurting from years of wearing heels. She was glad she’d had a pedicure done a couple of days before. Not that she wanted to impress him—she emphatically did not. But she wanted to look pretty. For herself, of course.
She eyed his right pocket. His phone hadn’t buzzed once in the last four hours. Ditto for his other toys.
“The market must be really slow today,” she said.
He gave her a quizzical look.
“Your phone and tablet are quiet.”
“They’re off.”
She must have misheard. “They’re what?”
“Off. We’re flying, you know.”
“You never turn them off though. You said that was one of the main benefits of owning your own jet.”
“This isn’t my jet, is it?”
She scoffed. “It is for all intents and purposes.”
“Do you want me to check messages and alerts?” he asked with a frown.
“No. Actually yes.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“You’re supposed to choose one.”
Why did he have to sound so calm and reasonable? “I don’t want you to check, but I know you need to.”
Now he looked amused. “I do?”
“Yeah. For every dollar you bet, you can win or lose a hundred bucks or something. And I know you bet millions of dollars a day. A losing trade can destroy you and your clients.”
He chuckled.
“It’s nothing to laugh at! If you only worked for rich jerks, I wouldn’t care, but you manage pension funds. What are all those teachers and factory workers going to do if their retirements get wiped out?”
“You’re cute when you’re earnest.”
“I know you need to micromanage,” she said stubbornly. “I don’t have to like it that it keeps you busy, but I also want you to do the right thing.”
“Thank you, but the firm’s going to be fine. I’ve given explicit instructions on what to do. I might need to check in periodically, but those teachers and factory workers won’t have to scrub toilets to eat in their golden years.”
And she knew by the determined and cool look in his eyes that he told her the truth. He took his fiduciary duties seriously.
Why couldn’t her husband just be a money-hungry jerk?
Because you wouldn’t have fallen in love with him.
She’d fallen for his incredible and indomitable willpower, his drive, intelligence and passion. And years later, those attributes hadn’t disappeared. They were part of who he was.
He should’ve gotten fat and indolent or something. Then her body wouldn’t tingle at the contact of his skin against hers.