Chapter 23 Jealous Flames
The morning room was already occupied when I arrived. Ben sat at the table in a crisp button-down, hair neatly combed for once, looking almost respectable. Alexander was at the head as usual, immaculate in a charcoal suit minus the jacket, white shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. Newspapers and tablets lay ignored; both men looked up as I entered.
“Good morning,” I said neutrally, sliding into my usual chair between them.
“Morning, darling,” Ben replied with exaggerated warmth, reaching across the table to take my hand before I could reach for the coffee pot. His fingers closed around mine, cool and slightly damp. “Sleep well?”
I forced a polite smile, subtly trying to withdraw my hand, but he held firm. “Fine, thank you.”
Alexander’s gaze flicked to our joined hands, then to Ben’s face. Through the bond I felt a sharp spike, hot, possessive jealousy that made my breath catch. His expression remained impassive, but the muscle in his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Clara entered with fresh platters: scrambled eggs flecked with chives, crispy bacon, toasted brioche, berries glistening with dew. Ben released my hand only to begin serving me like a doting husband on a mission.
“Let me get that for you,” he said loudly, piling eggs onto my plate, adding three strips of bacon, two slices of brioche, and a generous scoop of berries. “You need to keep your strength up, Mrs. Hargrove.”
The title grated. I opened my mouth to protest the overload, I wasn’t that hungry, but he was already buttering my brioche with theatrical care.
Alexander’s coffee cup paused halfway to his lips. The jealousy flared hotter through the bond, a low burn that made my pulse race in sympathy. His eyes, dark and unreadable, tracked every movement of Ben’s hands near my plate.
“Thank you, Ben,” I said mildly, trying to diffuse the tension. “That’s plenty.”
“Nonsense,” Ben replied, adding a dollop of clotted cream to the berries. “A wife should be spoiled.”
He reached for my hand again, lacing our fingers atop the tablecloth as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His thumb stroked my knuckles in what he probably thought was a romantic gesture. To me it felt like a brand, cold and calculated.
Across the table, Alexander set his cup down with deliberate precision. The faint clink sounded unnaturally loud in the sudden silence.
“Such devotion,” he murmured, voice velvet over steel. “One might almost believe it to be genuine.”
Ben’s grip on my hand tightened fractionally. “Why wouldn’t it be? Maddie and I are building a life together.”
Alexander’s gaze slid to me, lingering a heartbeat too long. The bond pulsed with restrained fury, and beneath it something more vulnerable, hurt. I wanted to pull away from Ben, to reassure Alexander somehow, but I was trapped in the performance.
“Of course,” Alexander said smoothly. “Though I must admit, I’ve rarely seen newlyweds so… restrained in each other’s company. Most can’t keep their hands off one another.”
The jab landed perfectly. Ben’s cheeks flushed, but he recovered quickly with a brittle laugh.
“Some of us have self-control,” he shot back. “We don’t need public displays to prove our marriage is real.”
Alexander’s lips curved in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Naturally. Though the board does appreciate stability. Appearances matter.”
Ben’s eyes narrowed. “Then you’ll appreciate that I’m holding up my end of our agreement. A stable marriage, just as promised. Time to hold up yours.”
The unspoken demand, board seat, hung heavy. Alexander inclined his head, noncommittal.
I finally extracted my hand under the pretense of reaching for orange juice. “Could someone pass the cream?” I asked brightly, desperate to shift the conversation.
Ben released me to oblige, but not before pressing a quick, theatrical kiss to my knuckles. The gesture made my stomach turn. Through the bond, Alexander’s jealousy spiked so sharply I nearly gasped aloud. His hand clenched around his fork, knuckles whitening.
The rest of breakfast passed in strained civility. Ben continued his performance, refilling my juice unasked, brushing imaginary crumbs from my sleeve, calling me “love” twice more. Each act felt like a claim staked in front of Alexander, and each one fueled the alpha’s barely leashed possessiveness until I could feel it thrumming through the bond like a second heartbeat.
By the time Clara cleared the plates, the air crackled with tension.
I excused myself first, murmuring something about studying in the library. As I passed Alexander’s chair, our eyes met. His were stormy, promising retribution, or perhaps a desperate need to reclaim what Ben had touched.
I fled before either man could follow.
In the library, I tried to focus on my laptop, but the words blurred. My skin still crawled where Ben had held it, and the bond ached with Alexander’s turmoil. I rubbed my knuckles absently, wishing I could erase the memory of Ben’s lips.
Hours later, my phone buzzed with a text from Alexander’s private number.
Library balcony doors. Five minutes.
My heart leapt. I saved my document, grabbed my coat, and slipped out the side entrance to the small stone balcony that overlooked the rose garden, now dormant but still beautiful under frost.
Alexander was already there, leaning against the balustrade, hands braced on cold stone. The winter wind ruffled his dark hair, and his posture was rigid with restrained energy. When he turned, his eyes burned.
The moment I stepped outside, he pulled me into his arms, burying his face in my neck. He inhaled deeply, as if chasing away Ben’s presence with my scent alone.
“I hated watching him touch you,” he growled against my skin, voice rough. “Every second.”
“I know,” I whispered, fingers threading through his hair. “I hated it too.”
He pulled back just enough to claim my mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss, nothing gentle about it. Teeth nipped my lower lip, tongue demanding entry, hands gripping my waist hard enough to bruise. I melted into him, kissing back with equal desperation, needing to erase Ben’s performance as much as he did.
His palms slid down to cup my ass, lifting me slightly so I could feel how hard he already was. A low growl rumbled in his chest.
“If we had more time,” he rasped between kisses, “I’d bend you over this railing and remind you exactly who you belong to.”
The words sent liquid heat pooling between my thighs.
“Tonight,” I promised breathlessly. “Somewhere private.”
He groaned, resting his forehead against mine. “Tonight.”
We stayed like that a few stolen minutes, kissing, touching, breathing each other in until the jealousy cooled to a manageable burn. When we finally parted, he pressed one last soft kiss to my wrist, right over my pulse.
“No one else’s hands on you,” he murmured. “Only mine.”
I nodded, throat tight. “Only yours.”
As I slipped back inside, the bond felt steadier, calmer, but still thrumming with anticipation for tonight. Ben’s little show at breakfast had backfired spectacularly. Instead of driving a wedge, it had only pushed Alexander and me closer, the forbidden flame between us burning hotter than ever.
And tonight, we would let it consume us again.