Page 38 of Sweet Wicked Vows
Between organizing the wedding party with a woman Jaxon clearly had slept with, and the realization that soon I would be interim CEO, sleep evaded me. I’d been tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable and stop my mind racing, when the knock on my bedroom door echoed through the silent room.
Instantly, everything within me seized.
Had something happened to Dad? Had he been rushed to hospital? Or even worse… I would never have been able to forgive myself if I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye.
Opening the door, Jaxon stood with a face more stern than usual. He wasn’t dressed in his usual crisp-ironed shirt and charcoal trousers. His bed-messed hair was a stark comparison to the usually composed man during the day. Even more startling was the pair of light gray jogging bottoms hanging so low on his hips that it was hard to miss the distinct v-lines, and the lack of any other clothing.
He was a tattooed adonis.
Swirls of black ink covered his chest and shoulders. A set of wings, strikes of fine lightning, and three swallows. I wanted to reach out and touch them. There was a lot more, but my eyes were unable to take in every bit of art sketched onto his skin.
He was a canvased masterpiece.
The world wasn’t playing fair when it created Jaxon. No man should be that mouthwatering in nothing but jogging bottoms that early in the morning. I suddenly became conscious of my appearance: the loose, tangled curls falling from my messy bun and the lack of pajama bottoms.
Yet I didn’t budge, too lost in staring at the man I married.
Jaxon remained silent, the intensity of him watching me snapped me back into the present moment.
“What’s wrong?” I pushed stray strands of hair away from my face. “Is it my dad?”
He shook his head. “Your father is fine. It’s Flynn. A police officer called your family home. Saunders took the call.” He ran a hand over his mouth. “Flynn’s been arrested. Saunders is downstairs. He thought it better to bring this to your attention first.”
Before Jaxon finished his sentence, I was out the door and heading straight down the stairs. Lo and behold, Saunders stood in the foyer, hands behind his back and face unreadable as ever. The man had been with my family for ten-plus years. All those years intertwined with our lives, watching Flynn and myself grow up, he remained the exact same.
About as emotional and readable as a blunt instrument.
“Sorry to do this to you in the middle of the night, Ms. Reynolds…”
“It’s Mrs. Dade,” Jaxon interrupted. He stepped off the final stair with a bathrobe in his hands. Coffee and wicked spice invaded my personal space as he wrapped the bathrobe around me. Strong hands ran down my arms, fingertips touching mine before he moved away.
“Mrs. Dade,” Saunders corrected without hesitation. “I didn’t believe it wise to wait until morning, less risk of it reaching the wrong ears.” The tabloids and stupid gossip columns were in fora feast when they found out. “Your father is asleep. I checked before I left. Again, I thought it wise to keep this away from him for the time being.”
“Thank you, Saunders.” I tried to smile, but my mind was in overdrive. I needed to ring someone in PR and get them to find a way to keep it far from public attention. Someone needed to keep an eye on my father. His healthcare assistant wasn’t due to arrive until seven a.m. If there was an official charge, I needed a lawyer as soon as possible.
Then, there was Flynn himself.
This fucking close to Dad’s announcement. My brother had to be joking.
“Did they say why the boy has been arrested?” Jaxon asked. Our fingers were breaths away from each other. The heat of his skin chased away the anxious goosebumps.
“Officer said they found him unconscious and under the influence,” Saunders responded. “Said they couldn’t disclose much else until someone came down to the station.”
I groaned, running my hands down my face. I was going to murder Flynn with my bare hands.
Okay, it’s going to be okay. Just think.
“Saunders, can you go back to my father and make sure he’s okay? He can’t be in the house alone.” I didn’t wait for him to reply. The man was a soldier ready for orders. He simply did what was asked without question. “Jaxon, is your bike still here?”
He nodded.
Thank god.
There’d been a royal cock-up involving the storage over Jaxon’s motorcycle. The garage Jaxon rented to keep the vehicle secure was currently being investigated for fraud and affiliation with unsavory members of New York’s criminal underground.
He lost a hefty deposit but was unfazed, requesting that westore the motorbike in the back garden until he arranged an alternative solution.
“Perfect. You will drive me to the police station.” This wasn’t Flynn’s first run-in with theNYPD. I only hoped our lawyer could talk them out of another felony charge. “I’ll handle the rest when we get there.”