Chapter 69: Bad Idea

A delicious little shiver moved through her.

"Oh...That’s so hot." Naomi giggled as she finished adjusting her clothes.

Dorian looked at his watch. "You come home straight from work. Ten minutes late, and I am coming there to get you." His tone made heat curl low in her stomach all over again.

"Yes, sir! Oh, wait, no. I have to get some groceries."

"Fuck that! I will go with you tomorrow. How about that?" Dorian asked.

"Okay! Now get the hell out!" Naomi scrambled off his lap before either of them made the very stupid decision to forget that it was still Friday.

Dorian caught her wrist before she could get too far. "Keep talking like that and I’ll have those jeans down in seconds."

Naomi’s mouth snapped shut. She refused to give him the satisfaction of a response because, unfortunately, she knew exactly what he could do to her. He wasn’t bluffing. If she opened her mouth and challenged him now, there was a very real chance she wouldn’t even make it to the bakery.

She really needed to get to work. Dorian smiled at her sudden silence.

"That’s what I thought."

Naomi glared. He leaned in for one final kiss. It was supposed to be quick. Thankfully, this one actually was, although Naomi still had to force herself not to grab his tie and drag him back when he pulled away.

"Tonight," he murmured.

"Go."

"You’re very bossy."

"Dorian."

"Going." He finally climbed out of the Range Rover.

Naomi shut the door, quickly moved into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He stood on the pavement and waved as she pulled away. She waved back.

Then he watched the Range Rover disappear into traffic before heading toward his own Mercedes.

He felt absurdly good as he got into the Mercedes and drove to his next appointment. Unfortunately, his actual job still existed even when his accidental wife was actively trying to destroy his ability to concentrate. His next stop was Sing Sing Correctional Facility for a scheduled meeting with a client.

By the time he finished there, the pleasant sexual frustration Naomi had left him with had settled into something manageable.

He got back into the Mercedes, tossed a file onto the passenger seat and started toward the office.

At least, that was the plan. He drove for several minutes before another thought crept in. Dorian gripped the steering wheel.

No.

Absolutely not.

He knew where that thought was going. He had already had this conversation with himself. Naomi wanted him out of her personal affairs.

She had said it plainly. He had promised. End of discussion. He kept driving. Then a road sign appeared.

His jaw tightened.

Bedford Hills.

He drove another few minutes before suddenly pulling over. The Mercedes came to a stop. He sat behind the wheel and stared through the windshield. "Don’t do this, Dorian." He said it aloud because apparently his own brain could no longer be trusted. "Don’t do this." He ran a hand over his jaw.

"Use your head."

This was none of his business. That had been Naomi’s position from the beginning. He had violated her privacy once already by having Adrian investigate her.

"Don’t be the reason she runs away," he muttered.

That was the part that worked. For approximately five seconds. She might stop trusting him completely.

And considering how much more comfortable she had become with him lately, Dorian didn’t want to lose whatever they were building.

Whatever that was. They were two people having sex on Saturdays.

"Just go," he told himself. "Drive back to the office. No." He leaned his head back against the seat. "Fuck." He reached for his phone.

If he couldn’t trust himself, he needed someone else to talk sense into him. Unfortunately, there was exactly one person who knew enough about the situation to do that.

He called Adrian. The line connected quickly.

"Boss? Did you see Mrs Heathcliffe?"

"Yes. That’s actually why I’m calling. I need you to talk me out of something stupid."

Adrian sighed. "Oh boy..."

Dorian ignored the judgment. "I’m at Sing Sing. Bedford Hills is just thirty minutes away. Surely that’s a good reason not to go there. Tell me I have clients waiting in the office."

"Actually, sir, you do not."

Dorian rubbed his forehead. "Give me something. Tell me the building is on fire."

"It is not."

"You are terrible at this."

"I can still talk you out of it."

"Go on."

Adrian’s voice lost some of its amusement. "For one, do you really want to get involved when you know this marriage is temporary. Second, she expressly told you to stay out of her business."

"Fine. I’m on my way. I’ll be leaving early today, so try to keep my schedule free," Dorian said.

"Yes, sir."

He ended the call and started the Mercedes. For roughly two minutes, he behaved like a man with common sense. He drove in the correct direction.

Kept his eyes on the road. Repeated Adrian’s perfectly reasonable points in his head. Then Dorian made a sharp turn.

"Fuck!" He drove toward Bedford Hills, every one of Adrian’s arguments becoming progressively weaker beneath the weight of his curiosity.

That was the problem with telling Dorian Heathcliffe not to investigate something. It usually made him want to investigate it more.

And this wasn’t some meaningless detail. Dorian needed to understand why. Just a quick conversation with his wife’s supposedly dead mother.

By the time he arrived, even he had stopped trying to justify it. He parked, went through the necessary security checks and stated his purpose.

Eventually, Dorian was led into a visiting room. He sat down. Then doubt crept in. He could still leave.

Actually, he should leave. Before he could reconsider any further, the door opened. A guard escorted a woman inside.

Dorian immediately knew.

Marianne Bennett.

The resemblance wasn’t exact, but it was there. Her brown hair was streaked heavily with grey, and prison had made her look older than she probably was. worn in a way that suggested years had been taken from her.

She looked at Dorian then sat across from him.

"Good morning, Mrs Bennett. I’m—"