Own Me Page 19

  Or I nearly do. I mentally compile a new list of questions to ask so I can know her better, even if it seems ridiculous. Knowing the way she moans in bed, how her face goes pink when she’s eager to have sex and when she’s furious, and realizing that she doesn’t back down from anything when she’s passionate makes me feel like I know everything about her.

  But that’s foolish. I know the pieces of her she chooses to show me. And I’ll only know those pieces for a moment in time. This marriage has an expiration date, and I have a responsibility to keep her out of trouble. She’s sleeping innocently in my arms, content, and that’s a lie within this lie. If she had any clue how much trouble we could be in for pulling this stunt, she’d be tossing and turning as much as I am.

  She has no clue I almost had to puke when we filed our marriage license. She has no idea how much I dread seeing a letter from Immigration Services in the mail. I’ve played out my worst fear over and over—Gen and me being found out, my deportation, her incarceration for her role in this.

  No. I’ll keep her at arm’s length. I’ll memorize the facts that will save her instead of being seduced into believing that because I know some of her secrets this could be real.

  I grab the edge of the covers and pull them down, then slide her between the sheets, cool and crisp in their newness. I pull her, Genevieve, my wife, into my arms, bury my face in the silk of her hair, and slide into the deep sleep where she already waits, our bodies twined and satiated.

  Despite my resolve to go back to facts and flashcards, my last thought is that I have to tell Marigold I’ll need more of that Eros balm.

  Chapter Eleven

  Genevieve

  “What do you want to do tonight?” I ask, slamming shut the book I’ve been staring at for the last two hours.

  Adam clicks with crazy speed on his laptop and grabs his pen off the top of a stack of folders, scribbling notes without actually looking. “Are you finished studying already?”

  “Already? Gah!” I throw my head back dramatically, and toss the book to the other side of the sofa. “I’ve been at it for hours.”

  “But do you know the material?” Adam says, looking up from the papers on the small desk he’s set up in the corner of the room.

  I work out the kink in my neck and send a warning glare his way. “Hey, you’re not my tutor right now. Mind your own business.”

  “Fine,” Adam’s voice is easy, as usual.

  It takes a lot to fluster my husband—it’s still so strange to think Adam is my husband!

  He files away his paperwork, then stalks over to the couch, his lips twisted in a wicked grin. I try to remember if I ever saw it on his face when we were just friends. When I decide I don’t remember, I wonder what it means.

  Adam has been just as adamant about drilling information into my head. He’s just as determined to save us from some kind of doom that he always feels is lurking, somehow. And that means it always feels like the two of us, and our shiny, happy marriage, exist on a fault line. The slightest tremor could destroy the house of cards this marriage is built on.

  He sits down next to me and pulls my feet onto his lap, and all the complications in my life begin to melt away. It’s so tempting to let them.

  But I can’t. I can’t keep getting my hopes up. Adam talked to his father and two of his aunts after temple last week, and he didn’t mention a word about me, his shameful little secret. It still makes the back of my throat burn to think about it, but I scold myself away from that.

  We both knew the rules up front. I’m not allowed to get upset at this late stage. So I keep playing along, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how big the risk.

  The scariest thing is, I might be doing it because I half believe I can fake this until I make it work. I punch down that stupid hope and try to be the kind of friendly wife Adam can enjoy being around until he gets his coveted citizenship and pulls the plug on this whole thing.

  “Uh-uh, don’t even start,” I warn, putting on my best “it’s all okay” face. I shake my finger at him and yank my foot back before he manages to put me under his spell again. “You think because you gave me a mediocre foot rub once and I came to bed with you, that trick’ll work every time? No way. I’m not that easy. Plus, I want to go out! I want to do something fun! I want to show off my hot, new husband to the entire town.”

  I press my foot to his shoulder and give him a playful push, but I watch to see his reaction. Adam blows out a long breath and glances over at his computer screen, cluttered with so many open tabs I don’t understand how it doesn’t crash. His hesitation… Is it really about his work? Or does part of him not want to be seen out and about with me? I’d say that’s ridiculous, but then why hasn’t he told his family about us yet? Why hasn’t he had anyone over to our new place? Why is this marriage open news in my world, but a deep secret in his?

  “That sounds great, Gen, but I’ve got a ton of work to do. It’s going to have to be another night.”

  My heart sinks, and I feel my lip curl into a frown Adam misinterprets.

  “Don’t even try that pout on me. You know I’ve got to figure out this yeast problem, or I won’t have a thesis to defend.” He leans forward and nips on my bottom lip until I relent and laugh, because no matter how down I get about the reality of our relationship, he charms the hell out of me.

  “Fine. I’ll take that foot rub then,” I say, walking my feet up his lap.

  He grabs my feet in his hands and rubs his thumbs over my arches, making my bones turn instantly to Jell-O. “Why don’t you go out, Gen? You haven’t seen any of your friends since the wedding, and before that you were so busy planning you didn’t see anyone apart from my ugly mug. Go out, have some fun. I’ll be here.”

  He pulls my feet up and kisses them, his lips tickling the sensitive skin, and I consider his suggestion.

  I really do want to spend the evening out with Adam, but if he’s not up for it—for whatever reason—I’d rather go out with my girls than sit here and stare at these textbooks any longer. I ponder it for another few seconds then leap off the couch to find something sparkly to wear.

  “Taking my advice?” he calls from his desk.

  “Just this one time. Don’t let it go to your head!” I yell back as I rifle through our closet.

  …

  “We’re never going to get in. Look at all these people!”

  I’m wearing six-inch heels, and I still have to stand on my toes and crane my neck in an attempt to gauge our chances. The line of people wrapped around the club goes on as far as I can see. I haven’t been to this place before, but I have a hard time believing that whatever’s inside is worth a wait like this, especially in this weather. The Santa Ana winds have kicked up and are about to turn this night into a scene from The Wizard of Oz.

  “No worries. Jemma knows the doorman. And by know him, I mean, she went home with him the other night. Can you believe that? Sweet Jemma, all grown up,” Kat says, bumping my hip with hers and sliding on another coat of sticky lip gloss.

  I give a sage nod like I’m super interested in Jemma’s doorman conquest, but really I’m more interested in how to get my stupid, sequined dress to stay down in this wind.

  “Isn’t he gorg?” Jemma turns and whispers to me as her doorman friend opens the rope for the three of us to enter the bar. She can’t rip her eyes off of his beefy arms and leering smile as he waves us by. She gives him a little wave and wink as we make our way in.

  The place has got a Moroccan vibe, with hundreds of hanging pendant lights and Damascus chandeliers. We ordered a few of those chandeliers for the store once, and I happen to know that they cost a fortune. It’s not a glamorous habit, but I can’t help but scope out the decor and furnishings whenever I go somewhere for the first time.

  I imagine the owners of this club spent a jaw dropping amount of money on lighting alone, not to mention the dark leather couches that line one wall, looking more like plush, king size beds than sofas. There are also rich car
pets hung on the walls and low, shiny wood tables where people sit on thick silk pillows and smoke sweet tobacco from dizzyingly gorgeous glass hookahs.

  “Do you want to dance?” Jemma asks, dragging me by the arm and already swinging her hips to the music.

  I glance around at the wall-to-wall hipsters, bobbing their heads to nineties music.

  “I think…I think I’m going to go grab a drink,” I stall. She and Kat wander off, and I’ve already broken my first rule of going out, which is never to separate from my girls.

  I stand back behind the crowd of people waiting at the bar, but the bartender catches my eye.

  “What can I get you?” he calls over the loud voices and thumping music.

  “Um, just a soda.” I squeeze my way between too many bodies wearing too much perfume and finally get to the bar.

  The bartender flashes a cocky smile and flips two bottles, pulling them back over two shot glasses he fills with expert care and little attention. His dark eyes drag up and down my sequin-covered curves.

  “Ah, come on, have some fun.” He slides the shots down, collects his tips, and winks at me. “You’re making my job too easy.”

  “Fine, I’ll have a gimlet.” I fumble with the snap on my clutch, annoyed to be spending more than I want on a drink I didn’t even feel like ordering.

  The bartender pulls his head back and squints at me. “That’s surprising. I would’ve pegged you for a sex on the beach kind of girl.” He gives me another quick wink then turns his back to make my drink.

  “Why don’t you let me buy that one for you, babe?” A man in tortoiseshell glasses and an un-ironic seersucker suit jacket leans so close I can smell his sour breath.

  I avoid eye contact and turn away from him as he tries to press himself close to me.

  “I don’t think so, thanks.”

  “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink. You can sit and talk. Good for you, good for me,” he pushes, bracing one arm on the bar and leaning in so his mouth is close to my ear.

  I put a hand up and shake my head. “Look, I’m good. I just want to get my drink and then find my friends.”

  I shift my eyes to the bartender, who better be making the world’s most delicious gimlet, based on how long it’s taking.

  “I bet I could keep you better company than they could.” He steps on my toe, and I feel the brush of his corduroy pants on my leg.

  Why the hell is this idiot incapable of taking my not-so-subtle hint, and where is my damn drink already?

  “Married,” I snap, and hold up my left hand proudly.

  Mr. Seersucker backs off, looking around like he expects my husband to come swinging off some vine, beating his chest and brandishing his fists.

  The bartender gives me my drink and tries to drag me into more conversation, but I plunk down twenty bucks and stomp off to find a quiet corner where I can avoid being relentlessly bothered.

  I take a few sips then stop to take in the room and look for Kat and Jemma, but I don’t see them anywhere. Great. I tip my head back and I notice for the first time since we walked in that part of the ceiling is open.

  The moon is hidden tonight, but the sky is still full of stars. So many stars.

  And I suddenly feel so stupid for wasting my time at this place where I don’t feel like I really fit in. I realize I’d so much rather be back at home in comfortable clothes, without these towering heels pinching my toes and making it hard to walk through the crush of the crowd.

  I’d rather be on the couch, snuggled against Adam’s chest with his fingers running over my hair than standing here, holding this watered down drink and looking at these stars all alone while the speakers vibrate with terrible music only someone like Lydia could love.

  I slide my phone out of my small clutch and dial Adam.

  Please answer.

  Please don’t have fallen asleep with your face in a book about spores. Again.

  “Gen? Are you okay?” His voice is so sweet, all frantic with worry.

  I let out a long breath, my relief palpable. The tension melts out of my body just because I heard him say my name.

  I press the phone closer to my ear and look back up at those stars before I answer. “I’m fine. I just…I sort of want to come home. I know I just got here, and I know you have work to do, so I can totally take a cab. But, if you were maybe going to take a break anyway…could you come and get me?”

  Adam lets out a smooth, warm laugh that makes my own lips curl up into a smile.

  “Gen, there’s nothing I’d rather do than bring you home tonight. Where are you?”

  …

  I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so glad to see someone as I am when Adam shows up at the club, and an hour later we’re sitting on the beach. The wind is no longer annoying, though it hasn’t died down. It feels good to sink my bare feet deep into the cool sand, my back pressed against Adam’s chest, his arms around me as we watch the waves crash on the beach.

  “This was delicious,” I say, wiping the special sauce from my burger off the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. “I didn’t realize how starving I was.”

  “In-N-Out will do that to you. Every damn time,” Adam says, kissing the top of my head.

  “Thanks for coming to get me.”

  I snuggle back tighter against him and listen to the steady thump of his heart. I’m only just starting to get a grasp on how good his heart really is: good enough to never want me to be stranded. Good enough to think about how hungry I might be before I even realize it. Good enough to take me somewhere I love when he has so much he needs to get done.

  “I know I said I wanted to go out, and I did. I do. I just—”

  “You’re an old married woman now? Not into the same things anymore?” Adam jokes, pulling me up onto his lap so he can wrap his arms around me.

  I turn to face him, loving the way his tall frame can envelope me, make me feel so protected and sheltered.

  “Yes! I mean, no. I just wasn’t into it tonight. It was loud and crowded, and it would have been cool to dance, but people were packed in so tight and there were guys at the bar hitting on me.” Adam’s eyebrow climbs at the mention of my being hit on, but he doesn’t interrupt. “And I missed you. And this. This is easy. This is us.”

  It feels good to be part of an “us” for the first time in my life.

  “I know what you mean,” Adam says, sliding his hands down my arms and holding my hands tight.

  I hook my fingers around his.

  “You do?”

  He nuzzles his face into the folds of the oversize jacket—his jacket—that he grabbed from the car so I wouldn’t be cold. His scruff drags along my shoulder and up along my neck, the rough scrape of it contrasting with the smooth, hungry sweep of his lips. The combination makes me shiver, and my shiver makes him chuckle.

  “Absolutely. You don’t even know how nice it is to come home to you every day, Genevieve. I’ve never had that before. It feels right. We feel right, don’t we?”

  “Yep,” I say. I squirm closer to Adam, straddling my legs around his waist and dropping light kisses across his cheeks and nose. I press my lips to the spot just under his jaw that I love so much. “How about this? Does this feel right?”

  Adam lets out a low, encouraging moan.

  The waves crash and hiss behind us, and I grab him by the collar, tugging his mouth tight to mine. He wraps his arms around me, cocooning me—us—in our own tiny world.

  “This feels damn right,” he says, his voice ragged.

  I move my hand down, tugging at the zipper of his pants. “This? It’s illegal you know.”

  “We’re not very good with following the law,” he points out with a half-grin, his hands pressing up under the sequined skirt of my tiny dress. “I try to be open-minded about things, Gen. I do. But watching you walk out the door in this?” The palms of his hands press up and down my thighs, the rough pads of his fingertips breaking my skin into goose bumps. “I wanted to follow you just so I
could beat the shit out of any guy who looked at you.”

  “You’d have been doing a lot of beating up,” I tease, drawing my arms out of the jacket and letting the straps of my dress slip down my shoulders.

  “Don’t tease me like that.” He presses his lips in a line across my collarbone. “You think I don’t know how gorgeous guys find you? How lucky I am to be with you…even if it’s only for now?”

  I tense at the mention of our marriage’s temporary nature, but I push past the hurt and decide to live in the now with him for as long as I can.

  I dip a hand under the waistband of his boxers, and he’s already so hard. “You think I’m gorgeous?”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know how much you turn me on,” he grates. I curl my fingers around him, pulling up and pressing back down slowly, my eyes locked on his. “No one’s ever turned me on the way you do,” he grits out.

  He collects a fistful of fabric from the front of my dress and tugs down. My breasts pop out and my nipples go hard and stiff in the swirling night air. He clamps his mouth over one, using his hand to press and knead the other.

  My knees sink into the cool sand as I push harder against him, letting my free hand tangle in his thick, soft hair and press his mouth closer. I look up to check and make sure we’re alone. In the distance I can hear the buzz and whir of the highway, but right here there’s nothing but the arching sky, bright with stars, the soft sand under us, and the waves crashing hard on the beach, sending a tangy spray of salty mist into the wind.

  I hook my thumb in my thong and yank it to the side, sliding over him and pressing down with one quick, urgent thrust. Adam fills me, so hard and tight that I take a second to let my body adjust to the feel of him.

  Adam’s hand presses against my back, tangled in my hair, his face on my skin, his groan vibrating against my chest. “Damn, Genevieve. You feel so good.”

  “Like this?” I pump on top of him, and he thrusts deeper, making me suck my breath in through my teeth.