“We didn’t plan on this happening any time in the next five years, so we’re making it work. It’s finally happening, Nicholas. What’s one more week if we get what we want?” When I didn’t answer right away, he faltered. “You do want this, right?”
I stared at the door like I could see through it and watch Vera getting ready. Guilt closed in on me, and that more than anything was why I wanted this done. Any other time Archer asked me how much I wanted this, I answered without hesitation. Now, I paused and looked for my wife. Now, rather than excitement and thrill rushing through me at the thought of crushing Lorenzo, guilt and second thoughts mixed in with everything else.
“I-I don’t—”
“Nicholas,” he cut me off, his tone tipping toward panic. “There’s no going back. We’re on a train going full speed. The only difference is we either crash and burn or pull this off. No matter what you want, when you come back, she will know about your revenge on her father’s company. The only option we have left is we go through it with the company in our hands—or not. But everything is already too late to change.”
Archer was right, and I cringed at the too-late realization. My heart thudded at the panic of how she would react when she found out. But there was nothing I could do about that now. Like he said, we were moving full force ahead. The least I could come out of this with is the revenge that had been my companion for over a decade. It didn’t ease the guilt or panic or that damn emotion pulsing a fire in my heart, but it was something.
“I’ll make it happen,” I finally answered. “But one more week. No more.”
“One more week.”
I hung up and dug my hands through my hair, tugging at the strands like I could pull the increasing pressure away from my body. Taking a deep breath, I shook out my limbs, attempting to loosen my muscles. I didn’t want to go in there tense and have Vera asking questions. She’d become oddly good at reading my moods.
Music slipped through the cracked door of the bathroom, and I followed, pushing the door open to find Vera leaning toward the mirror, applying mascara while she sang along with Pressure by Muse. Her ass swayed side to side, her skirt brushing her calves. I didn’t know where to look first, her juicy bottom, the soft skin of her bare back, or her breasts barely contained in a lacy bra that did nothing to hide her pert nipples.
“Damn,” I muttered.
She looked up in the mirror, meeting my eyes and smiling, not missing a beat when the song changed to WTF by Missy Elliot.
I’d never known who most of these people were as I listened to older alternative and rock music, but her playlists ranged widely in all kinds of music.
I leaned against the doorjamb and crossed my arms, enjoying just watching her. She put the mascara down and turned to face me, rapping the words and putting her whole body into dancing. She snapped her fingers and moved her arms, puckering her lips with attitude as she moved closer. By the time she stood in front of me, I was half hard and smiling along with her. She grabbed my hands and moved me around until I broke and stood up, giving in to dancing with her.
“I never took you for a rap kind of girl.”
“I’m an everything kind of gal. I got moves you’ve never seen.”
“Oh yeah?”
She nodded, and I pulled her close, dancing with her. I twirled her out, the soft tendrils escaping the mass of hair piled on top of her head, brushing her cheeks. When I did my own puckered lip face to mimic hers, she burst out laughing, holding her hands to her chest.
The sun shined through the window and illuminated her freckles and deep dimples. Fuck, she was stunning.
The warmth that had come and gone when we first started all this was nothing compared to the fiery inferno that pushed the limits of my control. It wanted free, and I didn’t know how much longer I could deny its existence.
The song changed again, this time a slow Nora Jones. I pulled her back in my arms and swayed us back and forth. “We’ll be docking soon for dinner. I planned somewhere special for our last night.”
Her head tipped forward, thudding her forehead to my chest. “How is it already the end of two weeks?” she groaned.
One more week.
She set me up for the perfect opening, and I didn’t even need to concoct a reason. The guilt pressed in a little harder, but I breathed past it. It wasn’t a lie.
“How about we don’t go home just yet?” Her head jerked up, wide eyes meeting mine. “We could check out France. Maybe try some wine in the countryside?”