HIS STRIPPER, HIS WIFE novel Chapter 120

Chapter one hundred and twenty

Bianca

“You don’t get to do that or talk to me that way because of that man.” He said, his eyes still fixed on the jacket hanging by my door like it had personally offended him. “What I asked was a harmless question. Who is that man to you?”

I didn’t answer right away, I just stood there at my own door, arms folded, watching him try to hold himself together while clearly falling apart on the inside. There was something almost funny about it, Adrian Delacroix, the man who had a whole engagement announcement plastered across every news outlet in the city, standing in my hallway acting like he had any right to question who walked in and out of my apartment.

“I don’t deserve an answer to that?” He asked.

I shifted my body, still blocking the doorway just enough that he couldn’t see all the way in, and said nothing and I just smiled instead.

“You are fucking him?” he asked, and this time his voice dropped lower. I actually laughed at that. “What? Adrian?”

“Because the moment you see a man leaving my apartment, your mind jumps straight there? Is that what you do to every woman who comes to your place?” I asked, tilting my head at him. “That says more about you than it does about me.”

“Then tell me who he is,” he said, “and what he was doing in your house this late.”

I sighed, mostly for effect, because watching him unravel a little was doing something for my ego that I wasn’t proud of but wasn’t going to deny either. “He’s a colleague from the design house,” I said. “He came to drop off some design samples I needed for a project that I forgot at the office. We had coffee and stayed maybe twenty minutes. That’s it.”

Adrian’s shoulders dropped slightly, some of the tension leaving his face. “Oh,” he said. “Sorry. That explains it then.”

I shook my head at him, still not believing the whole scene that had just played out in front of my own front door.

“Are you not going to let me in?” he asked…

“We were never together, Adrian,” I said, keeping my voice even. “You don’t get to show up here and act jealous over every man you see around me. That’s not something you’re allowed to do.”

“I’m not jealous,” he said, but even as the words left his mouth, I could see right through them.

“You absolutely are,” I said.

“Even if I am,” he said, taking a step closer, “I have every right to be.”

I laughed again, this time louder, because the audacity of that sentence deserved it. “You?” I said, looking him up and down. “Are you not an about to be married man? You come here questioning who visits my house, and you’re the one with a fiancée splashed across every headline in the city.”

That seemed to hit something in him, because for a second his jaw tightened and his eyes closed for a while. “Adrian, I don’t….” Before I could say anything else, he closed the distance between us and kissed me.

I froze for half a second, caught off guard by how sudden it was, how much heat there still was between us even after everything. But then I pushed him off, my palm flat against his chest as I stepped back.

“What,” he said, breathing a little unsteady, “are you chasing me away now?”

I didn’t answer that either,? Instead I reached for his hand, my fingers wrapping around his wrist as I pulled him inside and shut the door quietly behind him.

“And you look so beautiful,” he said, his voice quieter now, all the earlier sharpness gone from it completely. “Did you work on your hair?”

I touched the ends of it without thinking, feeling a little self conscious because of how he was looking at me. “Maybe,” I said, trying not to be soft.

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