Chapter 22
Nathaniel froze for a moment.
Harrison lay beneath him, her raven-black hair fanned across the scarlet bedsheets—a color Eleanor had personally selected for their marital suite. The crimson fabric made her porcelain skin glow with an almost otherworldly radiance.
The scene should have been sensual. But the image of her like this with another man...
Nathaniel's hands clenched into fists without conscious thought.
He'd meant to explain that last night's "delivery" was medicine, not a lover. Yet the words stuck in his throat when he met her icy stare.
"Move."
She'd ordered him to move.
Nathaniel didn't.
Harrison began struggling, her delicate frame twisting beneath his muscular body. The memory of him bringing Isabella into his private wing last night flashed through her mind, making her recoil from his touch.
"Get off me, Nathaniel! After spending the night with Isabella, did you even shower?"
Nathaniel went rigid.
In one swift motion, he pinned Harrison's wrists above her head. "Stop squirming," he growled.
She fought harder, her lithe body writhing like a serpent beneath him. The thin fabric between them made every movement dangerously intimate.
Nathaniel's mind flashed to last night—how she'd melted against him, teasing him with those sinful lips. The memory combined with their current position ignited an unwelcome heat. His gaze darkened with unmistakable desire.
Harrison noticed immediately. She froze, her wide eyes filling with disbelief. "Are you...?"
Nathaniel cursed and released her, sitting up abruptly. "No."
Harrison sat up too, eyeing him warily. "But—"
A cold glare cut her off. "You're only this angry because I chose Isabella over you last night, aren't you? Did you really think I'd touch you?"
Harrison paled as if struck. She stood, her expression turning glacial.
"Then why care who I spend my nights with?" Nathaniel's face darkened. "You—"
Seeing his anger, Harrison smiled coolly. "Just let me know when the divorce is finalized. Until then, play all you want. I'll do the same."
As she turned to leave, a thought seemed to strike her. Those bright eyes flicked to Nathaniel's lips, and she smirked.
"Oh, and Mr. Falcon? Maybe practice your kissing. Do you even know how?"
With that, she was gone.
Nathaniel sat on the bed's edge, his broad chest heaving with suppressed fury. A storm of anger darkened his usually composed features.
"That damn woman!"
What was wrong with his kissing?
Why did she keep bringing it up?
A bitter laugh escaped him. He knew exactly what she was doing—playing her usual games, trying to provoke him into kissing her again. Just like when she'd implied he was... inadequate.
Her tricks hadn't changed.
Nathaniel reminded himself that Harrison was just a pretty face with no substance. Not his type. Any attraction was purely physical—just a natural male response.
His phone rang, cutting through the tension.
Isabella's custom ringtone.
Nathaniel's expression softened slightly as he answered. "Isabella."
Her cheerful voice bubbled through. "Nathaniel! Hurry to The Velvet Lounge! Alexander just returned from overseas—we're celebrating! Did you forget his welcome party?"