The Billionaire Bachelor (Billionaire Bad boys #1)(41)

In the bedroom's en suite, she stripped out of her work clothes and stepped into a hot shower, allowing the tears to come as she softly sobbed under the water. When she'd met Corbin, he was attentive and fun and always smiling. He was complimentary and, yes, completely and utterly immature. But he'd filled an emotional need she'd been trying to ignore since he split with everything she had in her bank account.

Since then, she'd stayed busy, occasionally dating and being she-woman, able to handle her job, work overtime, and date the occasional underwhelming prospect. But today, just weeks into her marriage, Merina was exceptionally fragile. She couldn't be she-woman today. She just wanted to be a woman. She wanted to be vulnerable and open and emotional and unreasonable.

She wanted someone to hold her while she was all of those things.

But there was no one.

* * *

He gave Merina a few minutes before following in the direction she'd disappeared. When he reached their bedroom and heard the shower on, he started to retreat. Until he picked out another sound beneath the pounding water.

Crying.

Soft, tender sobs he could tell she was trying to hide. Trying to stop. And they absolutely froze him in his tracks.

He hadn't taken her emotions into consideration since the night he ran from his past demons. He'd walled up, closed in, focused on work, and figured she was doing the same.

But Merina wasn't like him. That was her most beautiful attribute. She was led by her heart, not her sense of duty and business. He'd held the Van Heusen over her head, but it was ultimately her caring nature that had made her say "I do." He'd taken that good faith, and the real connection they'd forged, then frozen it solid.

Part of which pissed him off—he wasn't good for her, good for anyone, and she should avoid getting involved with him any more than necessary. He'd lost control in that darkened office when he kissed her, but vowed not to go there again. He respected her enough to leave her alone. His chest crumpled as another soft sob came from the other room. Not the staged cries of his ex, who would have turned on the waterworks to gain sympathy or her way, but real, soul-rending sadness Merina was desperately trying to hide.

Maybe she didn't want to be alone.

He hovered in the middle of the room, unsure what to do next. Indecision in general made him uncomfortable. Rarely did he not know the next step. Silently, he turned over his options. Leave her to herself or wait for her to come out. The latter would risk her lashing out, but he wasn't that big of a dick that he didn't realize this was his fault, at least in part.

The man in him who was used to delegating the messy emotions of his past relationships wanted the latter. He was embarrassingly bad at these sorts of things, and it showed. But the husband in him knew he'd hurt her and wanted her to be okay. That, he wouldn't run away from.

Even though he had no idea what the fuck he'd say when she same out, he took off his suit jacket, rested it over the arm of the couch, sat, and waited. He didn't have to wait long.

Within a few minutes, the water shut off, and a few minutes after that, Merina exited the bathroom, a white towel wrapped around her body. His eyes went to the tattoo peeking out over one covered breast, the arrow whose meaning he didn't know. Her shoulders were beaded with water droplets from her damp hair, the golden hue darker because it was wet.

Her red-rimmed eyes went wide, surprised to see him, no doubt.

He felt a physical pain he didn't know what to do with in the vicinity of his heart. In the minutes he sat here, he hadn't thought of how to start the conversation. Turned out there was no need, because she spoke first.

"What are you doing up here?" Her anger snapped into place. He knew the diversion well, since he often used anger to mask his true feelings. She wanted him to believe that's all this was, her being upset because he was an ass. His instincts told him this was deeper than that. More complicated than that.

Exactly what he'd been running from for two weeks—technically for five years. But Merina wasn't Gwyneth, and if he thought for a second he could handle Merina the same way, he was a bigger idiot than she thought he was.

He didn't answer, knowing his words wouldn't be heard, so instead he followed her to her closet.

"Do you mind?" She spun on him, anger flashing in her eyes.

"We need to resolve this," he started, but the words felt wrong. A second later he learned they were.

"Oh, did you come up here to renegotiate?" She opened a drawer and rifled through the pile of lace and silk panties. One hand holding the towel over her breasts, she shook black lace at him. "So we can impress your stupid board tomorrow?" Her cheeks reddened. "What if I don't feel like playing dancing monkey to your organ? What if I decide to be my real, true self instead of the plastic me you insist on?"

"Are you forgetting the purpose of this marriage, Merina?" Also the wrong thing to say, but she'd lit his temper the second she'd issued the threat. Real or not, he didn't care for her dangling her loyalty over his head. That crumpling feeling in his chest turned into a cave-in, the walls falling down around him.

"You endure me until I'm named CEO and receive the Van Heusen in return. Is it so hard?" He couldn't lose CEO, not now that he'd come this far.

"It's occurring to me I didn't negotiate enough into my end of the deal, Crane. Enduring you is more difficult than I anticipated."

The moment she spoke, her mouth froze open. He could see the hint of apology in the way she averted her gaze, but a second later, she pressed her lips together and elevated her chin. Committed to her path.

"Don't worry about my feelings, Merina. I have none." Again, her eyes slipped to the side. She was unaccustomed to being nasty. "Tell me again how hard your life is." He lifted his arms to gesture around the massive master bedroom. "Your meals are made. You can sleep in any one of ten bedrooms. Your food is prepared by someone else, your messes cleaned for you. You have access to a yacht and a spending account to do with as you please."

"Is this a guilt trip?" she snapped. He didn't acknowledge her interruption. He'd worked hard for what he had—what he was practically handing her—and refused to let her off the hook so easily.

"At the end of your time served," he bit out, "you will have the hotel I purchased at market value free and clear. What more could you have possibly asked for?" He hadn't pegged her for a gold digger but damn. What fucking else?