Miah (Lane Brothers #2) Read online

  “Stop sex replaying and tell us!” Lena demands, and I cut my visual memory short in order to recap my horrible honeymoon.

  “We had dinner and went to bed…ya know. And then the next morning he carried on as if nothing had happened. Back to work and ignoring me, and…I spent the next seven days watching three cougars have a go at the barman on deck two.”

  I still shudder just thinking of what the four of them had on the day I’d seen them sneaking off together. Talk about instant libido killer.

  “That’s it?”

  “Yup. I spent all day waffling around before going back for dinner and his customary night games. During the day it was work, no compromise. The jealousy thing worked only so far before he went back to his routine. I even tried the whole masturbating in the bathroom thing you told me about, Lena. Nada.”

  Even Nana gasps and looks like she just smelled something bad, telling me loud and clear how well it should have worked.

  “Why, I can’t believe it. That old trick worked on your grandfather a time or two. I remember the day I saw him talking to that neighbor woman, Velma, and I got so jealous. I waited for him to come inside, and then I went to the bathroom and—”

  “Whoa! Nooo, no, no, no. TMI, Nana!” I yell, blocking my ears with a shriek.

  “Oh, now, Hannah dear, we’re all women here.”

  “Except me, apparently. What’s wrong with me?” I groan, keeling over to shove my face into a cushion.

  If that trick could work for my gray old grandmother, there must be something seriously wrong with me. I mean, I’ve done everything but actually rub my naked vagina in his face, and still, nothing.

  “Nothing, sweetheart. He’s just playing hard to get. Know what I think?” Chris asks, and I sit up to see her eyes take on a very unhealthy sparkle. “I think you’ve made things too easy for him. Throwing the goods in his face is all fine and good, but it’s stupid — no offense, Lena — to try and outplay a player like Gregory.”

  Heh. Maybe she’s right.

  “So you think I should what? Stop having sex with him?”

  They all snort and I blush at that kernel of idiocy. Yeah right, like he’d ever allow that. I’d be seduced and fucked in under a minute flat, and we all know it. The man is just that good. And super sexy.

  “No, dummy. You make yourself physically available and keep the emotional shit locked down tighter than a miser’s purse. You’re too…easy right now,” she says with an apologetic grimace. “You’ve basically shouted your love from the rooftops, which makes him thinks he’s got nothing to worry about.”

  “Yes, dear. Rule number one: never give everything right off the bat. You should have left him to simmer in his own juices. The moment he started questioning your commitment, he would have started worrying, which always makes men go the extra mile.”

  The others nod sagely, and I pull a face, acknowledging my stupidity. Thanks a lot, heart, and big fat mouth, for royally screwing everything up.

  “Great. I’ve already spilled the big ole beans. I’m doomed,” I moan, covering my face with a curse.

  “Not necessarily,” Lena coos, and I look up with the eagerness of a student at the knee of its master. Or a dog, your choice.

  “No, indeed, your avowal of love this early on could just work in your favor. Have you said it again, recently, dearest?”

  My pathetic, chagrined expression says it all, and they all start laughing.

  I actually scream it, loudly, when I orgasm, but I hesitate to say this with the level of amusement at an all-time high.

  “So then all you have to do is stop,” Chris says seriously. “Stop telling him, and he’ll stop jumping at his every crumb with an affectionate gratitude that spells it out for him.”

  “Won’t he get all weird if I ignore him?”

  “Don’t ignore him. Be polite and serene at all times. If he gets all cold and distant, just smile and keep on keeping on. Be the soul of calmness. No temper outburst, no trying to seduce him. Just go about business exactly as he would,” Lena says, smirking softly.

  “This will…what exactly are we looking for here?” I ask.

  Stop being so judgmental. I’ve never mind-fucked a guy before. I prefer honesty and openness and results, not cloak and dagger love play. Obviously, though, my approach is not working.

  “He’ll slowly start to notice that you’re no longer as emotionally available as you were, and it’ll make him wonder. Are you pulling away? Have you lost interest? And horror of horrors! Do you simply not love him anymore? Men are simple creatures, Han: they always want what’s unavailable. So make yourself unavailable.”

  This sounds so easy, easy enough that I can pull it off without too much trouble.

  “Oh, but don’t forget to make yourself as physically alluring as well, dearest. As you’ve learned, there’s nothing worse than a lover who is totally open and responsive physically while being emotionally closed. It makes the contrast all the harder to ignore.”

  “That’s it. Be totally open to his physical needs while holding my feelings in check. So basically you want me to think like a man.” I lean back and smile.

  “Oh God, I pity that poor fool when she gets that smug, determined look.”

  As we give Nana the martini shaker back and watch her perform cocktail magic, I drink with a satisfaction I haven’t felt since the wedding.

  It’s time to up the ante and play for keeps, or go broke trying.

  Chapter Thirty Three

  My plan doesn’t start that night because I’m in bed and sound asleep when Greg finally decides to drag himself home, but I have to say, I wake up the next morning with the birds, and with such a hopeful feeling I am showered, dressed, and cooking breakfast with a smile on my face by the time he comes down, freshly shaven.

  There are a very few things in this world that are as sexy as Greg when he’s in power mode and ready for a day of shark tank takeovers. I have yet to find these things, but I’m hopeful that he’s not the only thing to be this enthralled with at this hour.

  “Morning ,darlin’.”

  “Oh, hi. Sleep well?” I ask, pouring him a cup of coffee after placing a full breakfast before him.

  He nods, and I watch him from the corner of my eye as I flip the paper open and dig into my yogurt and muesli. I can just about feel his curiosity when I don’t comment or even nag about his late night, and it takes a huge will not to look up at him and smirk.

  “Sorry I got back so late, there was a last minute—”

  “Oh, Greg, its fine,” I say, waving him off and going back to an article I haven’t read a word of. “That’s your business.”

  Two spoons later, and just as I find the crossword puzzle with a victorious huff, he’s talking again, this time with an insistent growl that makes my lips twitch precariously. I have to duck my head, it feels so great.

  “There was a last minute meeting about the ad campaign for the next generation ships, and I didn’t want it to go any longer. These things are important to the future of the company, a company I intend to build for our children.”

  “Hmm, that’s nice, dear. More coffee?” I ask, pouring myself another cup.

  He goes back to his breakfast with a huff, and by the time I have neatly printed in the last answer, he’s sitting back, watching me with a scowl.

  “My family will be joining us next week for my birthday.”

  I can almost see his triumph when he says it, and though I want to jump up and run shrieking from the room, I keep my bland smile plastered on, and take another slow sip of my coffee.

  “Should I get the two guest rooms ready, or are they staying at a hotel?”

  That throws him for a second, because I’d told him in no uncertain terms how much I despise those people. Stuck up assholes.

  “No…uh, that won’t be necessary. They’ll only be here for the day before flying back home.”

  “Oh good, I’d hate for one of them to catch Nana streaking in the halls. Should I arrange a p
arty, or would you prefer a quiet dinner?”

  Yesterday I’d fully intended to hire a planner and throw a huge shindig with a bar and live music. Now, I want him to feel my disinterest. Okay, so I’m not as disinterested as I make out to be, but dammit, I can’t afford for him to see how excited I was about his birthday.

  “Uh…just a dinner, I suppose,” he says, rising slowly.

  I follow him up, hating the disappointment I see there, knowing that to torture him on his birthday is the worst of the worst low I can sink to, but all’s fair in love and war, and at the moment I’m fighting the mac daddy of wars trying to win his heart.

  I may not win, but, by God, I’m gonna give it the best I’ve got before ceding victory.

  By the time we arrive at the Lucas building — yes, I am now officially back at work — he’s so out of sorts he hasn’t barked at me once about my lack of seatbelt, and I go into my first day back at work with a smile.

  Turns out there’s a reason he worked so hard while on our honeymoon, and by noon I am neck deep in merger documents and meetings that are as cutthroat as they are quick.

  Greg is trying and succeeding to arrange a merger between one of his ‘lesser holdings’ and the sinking Jeffries Enterprises, and together with Taylor they’ve been negotiating everything from cutbacks to packages and everything in between.

  “God, I can’t believe I really am married to a cyborg,” I groan at three, when I get my first break, and collapse at my desk with the doughnut and tea Kim has waiting for me. “Doesn’t the man ever stop?”

  “Huh, you should have seen him with the Yates deal. How he found the time to make personal appearances at the agency when he was getting everything else running and moved is beyond me. Even I can’t go that hard, and my kids call me the Terminator,” she laughs.

  I devour the doughnut and scald my throat on the tea, I’m so hungry. I can’t believe I’ve eaten it either, not a doughnut, but I feel so loopy from hunger I’d had to stop and lean into the wall for support earlier.

  “Han! I need the labor contracts.”

  “No, no, dear. You just sit there and catch your breath. I’ll get those to him. You look positively sickly,” Kim orders, waving me down without too much of a protest.

  I start checking emails and get so wrapped up I hardly notice that the sun has set and it’s past seven when he comes strolling out, a weary look on his face.

  “You’re still here.”

  “Yeah. I just got done. I don’t think it’ll last long, but I managed to get all the emails done, so tomorrow should be better.”

  “Why are you still here, Han?” he asks as I rifle in my desk for my purse and the welcome back stuffed bear Kim got me.

  It’s only when I look up that I notice the irritation on his face and realize I’ve stepped over some imaginary line he’s drawn. It’s hard to get peeved when I don’t know what I should be peeved about, so I just shrug and walk toward the elevator.

  “You will leave at five like everyone else. I won’t have you working yourself to ill health,” he growls, taking my elbow and pulling me in with him.

  Ah, the whole ‘you vessel for babies’ caveman attitude. I want to remind him I’d been working just fine with the previous pregnancy scare and that I’ll probably work just fine even when I do get pregnant — not yet, thanks to the birth control I’m still taking — but I just nod again and face forward, ignoring his displeasure.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. Why?”

  “You’ve hardly said two words to me.”

  I bite down hard on my tongue and remind myself that laughter will not help me right now, especially not with this air of mystery I’m striving for.

  “Hmm, just a little tired, I suppose. I think I’ll go to bed early tonight. I’m pretty beat.”

  I know they said I shouldn’t withhold the goods, but honestly, I really can’t muster up any enthusiasm with him reminding me that I’m currently nothing more than a broodmare.

  Nothing spells “I adore you” like being a sperm receptacle for a guy who hardly notices your existence outside the bedroom.

  When we get home, I practically inhale dinner, and have the world’s fastest shower and it’s only as I’m pulling the covers up that I realize he didn’t exactly protest the idea of no sex.

  I’m on the phone and conferencing both Lena and Chris when Greg walks in and raises a brow on his way to the bathroom.

  “You said you were tired,” he mutters, and I hear the girls cackling as I yawn as broadly as I can and let my eyes droop.

  “Chris has a sexmergency. You know how that goes. I can’t be too tired for her.”

  Direct hit.

  I see him stiffen before he stomps into the bathroom and slams the door with definite force.

  “Jesus, that was fast,” Chris giggles, and I laugh silently when I hear the shower go on amidst a lot of very voluble cursing.

  “I know, right? He almost shit a brick this morning when I didn’t make a big deal of his birthday.”

  “Oh no! Han, you absolutely can’t flake on his birthday!” Lena insists, almost yelling at me to the point that I’m forced to move the phone away a bit.

  “What? But I thought you said the idea is to show him how little I’m capable of caring,” I hiss, lowering my voice when the shower turns off.

  “In normal circumstances, but this is his birthday. He’s weird about it because his parents are those people who don’t celebrate birthdays. When he left home he made a point of doing something great even if he had to get his own gift. This is super important, Han.”

  Dammit. I hate that it makes me happy that I don’t have to flake on a day I’ve been dying to celebrate as much as he has. I’m not impressed with him right now, but I love the guy, and I’m grateful that he was born.

  “Crap, I don’t have much time to get this planned. His birthday is next Friday,” I mutter, keeping an eye on the door.

  “Call me tomorrow.”

  “Me too!” Chris yells. “I also wanna help with douchebag’s party.”

  “Fine, I’ll go out for lunch and you can meet me,” I whisper into the phone. “Be careful, though, I don’t want him finding out about this. You know how he can be.”

  I hang up quickly and look up to see him lazing against the doorjamb, a towel slung low across his hips.

  “The ‘sexmergency’ crisis taken care of, darlin’?”

  Why’s he looking at me so weirdly?

  “Uh, yeah?”

  I am possibly a worse liar than Bill Clinton, and that’s saying something because I would have been impeached after the first three questions. Greg takes a few slow steps closer and drops the towel with a smirk.

  “You don’t seem all that tired anymore, darlin’.”

  My mouth goes dry when I lower my eyes and get a good look at the extent of his arousal. No, I think, with a huge smirk of my own, I don’t feel all that tired anymore after all.

  “You just gonna stand around and look pretty all night, Mr Lucas?” I purr, flinging the sheets back and exposing the tiny shorts I’ve worn to bed.

  His eyes go lighter and he growls, leaping for me in a fluid motion that reminds me of a sleek jungle cat. He kisses me with a passion that leaves me reeling, and I do what I promised myself I wouldn’t: I give him everything I have, putting myself into every touch, every kiss.

  I hold nothing of myself back as I love him.

  I just don’t give him the words.

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Things have been a little weird in the last four days. Like, alien abduction weird. You know how people have an accident and go into a coma and wake up different, almost as if they aren’t the person they were before?

  I watched a documentary on coma patients once, and while not all of them wake up changed, the ones that do swear they can’t understand why they all of a sudden like different things or start liking things they always hated.

  I feel a little like one of them at the moment,
because I went to bed with a definite plan in mind, and now I just don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing.

  Greg is…being odd. There’s no other way to say it. I’d woken up the morning after an amazing sexathon to find my work clothes put out and him in the kitchen cooking pancakes, of all things.

  I felt a little sorry for Rose-the-tyrant, seeing the awful mess he’d made, but I’d eaten every bite, despite my hatred of syrupy pancakes — okay, and my crazy OCD about the kitchen being that dirty — and watched him the whole time, half expecting a little green worm to slither out of his nose and crawl away, freeing my Greg from its terrible mind control.

  I’m still waiting on it and still watching my husband act so out of character I can barely breathe for anticipating his next move. Which is another thing: the man has been dogging my steps like a mad person.

  I’d come out of the bathroom at work yesterday to find him waiting. Waiting for me to finish peeing just so that he could walk me back to my desk and give me the sandwich he’d gotten me for lunch.

  With his newfound stalking abilities I’ve found it exceptionally difficult to duck and dive him long enough to arrange his party. And here comes the super painful part of this experience: I’d been forced to call his mom for help because apparently I can’t even go potty without him there.

  Needless to say, every phone call and quick planning lunch with the girls has been a 007 mission, but I’ve done it, I’ve gotten every detail planned, down to the gift I’ve gotten him, and now all I have to do is get him home tonight without a glitch.

  “Han, come in here for a minute.”

  I look up to see him poking his head out of his office, and throttle the growl working its way up my throat. Goddammit, I’m waiting for the live band to call.

  “I’ll get it,” Kim whispers as I pass her desk, and I nod thankfully, following him in only to find myself swung up into his arms and on the sofa in a blink.

  “You need to eat lunch,” he mutters, and I sit up long enough to see a mountain of Chinese food.

  “Good God…that’s…a lot of food.”