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I sneak a few looks at her, feeling a strong desire to ask what she’s thinking. Yet, I have a sinking feeling I already know. After crossing a line with her childhood friend tonight, she will certainly make it clear how badly I’ve screwed up.
When we reach the house, the air feels supercharged with electricity, ready to explode. Mara walks ahead of me, her back stiff, her steps clipped. She pauses in the foyer, pulls off her heels one at a time, and sets them down with far more force than necessary.
Then she turns to face me, her arms crossed and eyes blazing.
“Don’t,” she says, voice low and furious, “stand there like you didn’t just act like a possessive caveman in front of half the cartel.”
I stiffen, jaw tight.
“He was—”
“—He is a family friend,” she cuts in sharply. “One I’ve known all my life. One who was talking to me, not pawing me, not trying to overstep his boundaries, just talking.”
I step forward, teeth grinding.
“His hand was on you.”
“So?”
“I did not like that.”
Her laugh is short and incredulous. “Oh, so now I belong to you? That’s interesting.”
I blink, caught off guard. “Mara—”
“No.” She lifts a hand, her voice trembling now. “You’ve kept me at arm’s length since day one, Zasha. You don’t touch me. You’vemade it clear that I am not desirable. You are not interested in me as a woman. And yet tonight—” she takes a shaky breath—“you act like I’m yours?”
I stare at her, chest rising and falling slowly, struggling to find words.
“Because you are,” I say, voice rough. “You’re my wife.”
Her mouth twists.
“Only on paper. And you’ve made it very clear you don’t find me attractive. So what was tonight?” Her voice cracks now, just slightly. “Ego? Possession? Territory?”
I feel like I’ve taken a punch to the gut.
I move toward her slowly, my voice raw.
“You think I don’t want you?”
Her arms drop, lips parting, but no sound comes out.
And that’s it.
Something in me snaps. I reach for her — not carefully, not with caution, but with every bit of tension and hunger I’ve been fighting since the moment she moved into this house.
I pull her into my arms, and her gasp barely escapes before my mouth claims hers. There is nothing soft about this kiss.
It’s not gentle.
It’s weeks of restraint unraveling all at once—fierce, desperate, and confused.
She melts into me and pushes back at the same time, her fingers fisting in my shirt, tugging me closer, anchoring herself against the storm we’re building.
The kiss deepens, turning from wild into something more dangerous: something that feels primal.
I break the kiss, just enough to rest my forehead against hers, our breaths mingling. My voice is a rasp when I speak. “Don’t you ever think that again.”