Page 8 of The Call She Made That He Never Answered
But now Ella was awake. Twenty minutes available.
Twenty minutes could accomplish a lot—even just kissing, deep, possessive kissing—that time was enough.
"I'll check on her." My voice came out huskier than expected. I unbuttoned my top shirt button.
I texted Vivian to have the car ready early, materials for the gala negotiations prepped in the vehicle, while heading to the bedroom.
I pushed the door open. Humid air mixed with bath fragrance hit my face. The lights were dim. Ella lay on the couch, hair damp, wearing a long robe as severe as a nun's habit, stretching from neck to calves. Her long, pale legs pressed together, fresh skin glowing pearl-white.
She saw me. Half-sat up from the couch. The robe slipped from her shoulder, making the full curves at her chest more obvious.
Mrs. Hughes said she wasn't well, but I saw nothing wrong. She'd lied to me. Her purpose was to see me. The carefullystaged intimacy in the bedroom exposed her intent: dim lighting, a woman fresh from the bath in a robe.
I could imagine—one gentle pull of the robe's tie, and she'd be naked in my arms.
My mouth went dry.
"I have a gala shortly." I poured water, lifted it toward her. "If you need something, tell me now."
As I handed her the glass, my fingers traced her hand's back, deliberately slow, inch by inch across the small bones, feeling that delicate skin texture.
"I can satisfy any request you have." I emphasized "any," my gaze turning explicit. I wanted her to understand—if she wanted it, I could give it to her right now.
"Lucas," Ella's voice was soft, her breath sweet between her lips.
"I called you a dozen times. Why didn't you answer?"
Calls?
My mind raced—I usually delegated phones to my assistant team. Vivian notified me of anything important. Besides, Ella rarely called. Early in our marriage, I'd answered a few times—all trivial matters. If anything urgent happened at the manor, Mrs. Hughes and the family doctor would contact me first. No one bothered me with meaningless calls. Everyone around me knew: my work affected tens of thousands of employees' livelihoods.
To see Ella, I'd just shelved a hundred-million-dollar acquisition prep. I'd given her my time—calculated in minutes—for one meeting. And instead of gratitude, she questioned why I didn't answer her calls? Did she want me to be some ordinary husband discussing weather and dinner plans?
Rage flared in my chest. I forced it down. She was just a girl from a nurse's background. She couldn't understand the sacrifice I'd made for her.
"There are so many servants here, top family doctors, your credit card has no limit—what could you possibly need that only I can provide?" I was trying hard to control my temper, but I think Ella sensed my mood. As I moved closer, I noticed her vacant eyes, her skin pale and sickly.
My heart sank. Mrs. Hughes didn't lie easily. Maybe Ella really was unwell.
I lifted the glass to her lips, hoping hydration would help. The cold glass barely touched her soft mouth when she tilted her head back, as if unable to bear even that temperature.
The movement parted her lips slightly, revealing the pale pink, moist interior.
My Adam's apple bobbed involuntarily.
Damn.
I suddenly wanted to lean down, pry her lips open with my tongue, and drink the fluid from her mouth to quench my thirst. She had no idea how her unconscious, pure posture was such a lethal provocation.
In bed, she was always passively sacrificial. All rhythm and aggression came from me. All she could do was dig her nails into my shoulders. To keep others from hearing her moans, she'd even bitten her own lip bloody. That restrained trembling always destroyed my control.
I held the glass, wedged myself into the narrow space between her and the couch arm, and cupped the back of her head with one hand. Ella made a small, startled sound, hands instinctively pushing back, fingers sinking deep into the couch crevices.
I inhaled deeply at her neck, pressed the glass to the corner of her mouth. She looked at me with wet, helpless eyes, then suddenly spoke, "The gala... You need a date, don't you?"
The gala?
I paused, remembering that was the first thing I'd said entering the bedroom. I hadn't expected Ella to take it seriously.
