Chapter 43: Accidental Husbands

"Nothing," he answered simply.

Naomi shook her head immediately. "That’s not true."

"It is."

Another tear slipped down her face. "No one is this nice for no reason."

he stepped closer and took her hands. She looked down at their joined fingers as he gently pulled her toward him. "I assure you, Chef Bennett. I want nothing."

That nearly started her all over again. She went into his arms without another argument. Dorian caught her against his chest. She held on as he wrapped his arms around her.

Her face pressed into his shirt. He rubbed one hand slowly over her back. She tightened her arms around him. "Thank you. Thank you so much. This is..." She sniffed. "This is the nicest..." Her voice broke again.

For a woman who usually had enough words for both of them, she suddenly couldn’t seem to find the correct ones.

So she kept repeating the ones she did have.

Thank you.

Thank you so much.

This means a lot.

You didn’t have to.

Thank you.

Dorian was beginning to suspect there was more to Naomi’s reaction than she was willing to admit.

Something about accepting things from people made her suspicious. And Dorian had a growing feeling that whatever caused that was connected to everything else she refused to tell him.

The way she shut down whenever conversations drifted too close to her family. He still hadn’t forgotten the bruises that had been on her face.

Not even close. He had simply stopped asking. So he stood there and held her while she cried into his shirt and talked almost without breathing, still thanking him.

Dorian listened. Well, mostly listened. His mind wandered as she spoke. Because Naomi had a very dangerous habit of praising him.

And unfortunately, his ego remembered exactly what that sounded like under very different circumstances.

Vegas came back to him with her saying things that had made an already arrogant man feel practically immortal.

At one point, Dorian distinctly remembered thinking he could walk out of that hotel room and conquer a small country.

God, the woman and her mouth.

He ran one hand slowly down her back as her sobs finally started to settle. She sniffed against his chest.

"This is amazing." She wiped beneath her eyes. "You are officially the king of all accidental husbands."

"I’ll take it."

Naomi laughed weakly. He felt ridiculously pleased with himself.

So yes.

His ego was being stroked again. Unfortunately no bed involved. But the effect remained embarrassingly similar.

Naomi finally stepped away from him and looked around the room again. Then the next phase began.

The next several minutes turned Dorian Heathcliffe, one of New York’s most formidable criminal lawyers, into a reluctant personal photographer.

Dorian hated that he was pleased. Or maybe he didn’t. That was becoming the problem. He wasn’t entirely sure what he hated anymore.

Everything had started getting tangled together. He used to know exactly what irritated him. Sometimes he wanted to strangle her.

Sometimes he wanted her to keep talking. None of it made sense. There was one thing he remained very sure about, though.

Callum Sterling.

Dorian hated the idea of him buzzing around Naomi like a fly that refused to understand the window was closed.

What kind of man with any self-respect continued chasing a married woman?

Pathetic.

Eventually, Naomi was satisfied with her photographs. They went downstairs. She unpacked the meal she had brought home from the restaurant, and not long after, they were sitting at the kitchen counter with dinner between them.

Pan-seared steak with fresh dressed salad. Simple compared to some of the things Naomi cooked, but still better than almost anything Dorian would have eaten if left alone.

They talked while they ate. She told him about work. Her ideas for the office. Then Dorian glanced at the time.

Too early.

Again.

He frowned. He had spent years coming home late and appreciating quiet. Now he was looking at the clock and feeling disappointed because the evening was ending before he wanted it to. He didn’t want to go upstairs yet. He wanted another three-in-the-morning night.

Wanted her sitting on the counter talking about absolutely nothing until he lost track of time or talking him to sleep again.

He looked back at Naomi. "We should have some wine. To celebrate your office."

"Great idea!" Naomi said.

Apparently neither of them had learned enough from history.

"Have you been to the sixth floor?" he asked.

Naomi shook her head. "No."

"Of course you haven’t." Dorian slid off the kitchen stool and reached for her hand.

Naomi looked down as his fingers closed around hers. He didn’t seem to notice. He simply pulled her toward the elevator.

"The sixth floor leads to the rooftop terrace," he said. "Plus, I have a bar up there."

Naomi followed him inside. The doors closed. She leaned against the wall beside him. Something about the townhouse had been bothering her since she moved in.

It was beautiful, enormous and ridiculously expensive, but now that she had actually spent time in it, the layout seemed almost deliberately designed to prevent people from running into one another.

You could probably share the house with someone for three days and never accidentally see them.

Naomi looked at him. "Why did you buy this house?"

He looked at the elevator doors. "When I got married the second time, I wanted to do the exact opposite of what I did with my first. I had been completely available with Lillian. So with Margot, I thought maybe I had done marriage wrong the first time. I thought being too available made me easy to take for granted."

"So I decided I would be less available. Maybe then I would be appreciated more. Valued more. I found a house that could actually keep distance." He gestured vaguely around them. "You come in the door, you don’t have to see anyone unless it’s necessary or unavoidable."

"Ah..."

There was really no intelligent response to that. She was beginning to understand the six floors much better now.

This house was emotional avoidance. She looked sideways at him. For a man this intelligent, Dorian had made some spectacularly stupid decisions when it came to marriage.

Granted, the first one wasn’t his fault. His wife sleeping with his uncle was not something anyone could reasonably blame him for.

But the second? And then the third? What exactly had gone wrong there?

"So you sabotaged your marriage."