Page 102 of Bound To Be Mine

“We should probably move,” I said. “Before I fall asleep right here.”

“Give me a minute. I’m not sure my legs work anymore.”

I laughed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“You ruined me. This is your fault.”

Eventually we did move, stumbling to his bedroom and passing out within minutes.

The next morning, I watched him adjust his tie in the mirror. He looked every inch the powerful attorney—three-piece suit perfectly tailored, hair styled, and clean shaven. This was the Briggs Blackwell the world saw.

“You look very lawyerly,” I said from where I was still lounging in his bed, wrapped in his sheets.

He turned and smiled. “Is that a compliment?”

“It is. Very intimidating. I’d hate to be opposing counsel.”

He crossed back to the bed and leaned down to kiss me. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need luck. You’re going to destroy them.”

“That’s the plan.” He kissed me again, deeper this time. “What are you going to do today?”

“I don’t know. Explore the city a little. Maybe go to a museum. I’ll figure it out.”

“There’s a spare key on the hook by the door. Help yourself to anything.”

I smiled at him. “Have a good day at work, dear.”

He groaned. “That was very domestic.”

“We’re married. It’s allowed.”

“Fair point.” He grabbed his briefcase. “I’ll text you when I’m done. Probably won’t be until late.”

“I’ll be here.”

After he left, I lay in bed for another twenty minutes, enjoying the quiet. I already missed him, which was ridiculous considering he’d only been gone half an hour.

Eventually I forced myself up and into the shower. I stood under the hot water longer than necessary, thinking about last night. That had been the closest thing to making love that I had ever experienced.

This was getting complicated in all the ways I’d been afraid it would.

I got dressed and made myself coffee in his pristine kitchen. While it brewed, I wandered around the apartment, really looking at it for the first time without Briggs there as a distraction.

The place was sparse, but there were small details if you paid attention. A stack of books on the side table, all legal thrillers. A framed photo on the bookshelf of him and his brothers when they were younger, all of them in football uniforms. Another photo of him with his father, both of them grinning at the camera.

I picked up the football photo, studying it. Briggs looked about fourteen. He was holding a football and had his arm slung around Dash’s shoulders. They all looked so happy.

I set the photo down and continued exploring. His office was the most personal room—diplomas on the wall, more family photos, shelves lined with law books and case files. There was a framed article about Blackwell Couture, featuring his father.

I found myself in the kitchen again, staring at his well-stocked fridge. An idea was forming. He’d cooked for me multiple times now. Made me feel taken care of in a way I hadn’t experienced in years.

I could do the same for him.

I grabbed my phone and pulled up a recipe. Something I knew I could handle. I wasn’t much of a cook, but I could manage the basics. And more importantly, I wanted to do something nice for him after what would probably be a long, exhausting day in court.

I made a list and headed out to find a grocery store.