Page 74

Cassia’s lips tug down. “I’m devastated.” The sarcasm is thick.
Relief courses through me. “It’s a tragedy, really.” We can make our own memories.
“I never thought I’d say this,” she confesses, moving close. “Please take me home.”
Chuckling, I drop my arm around her shoulder, refusing to pass up an opportunity to have my hands on her, and to my surprise, she doesn’t push me away. We stroll across the expanse of lawn between the main house and mine, an easy, mindless banter filling the minutes.
We arrive at the house, and I break away, jogging up the steps to open the door for her.
She smooths her dress, walking up the steps, hips swaying back and forth in a way that has the blood rushing from my head to my cock. “I’m fully capable of opening a door.”
“That doesn’t mean you should have to do it.” I grab her hand and pull her toward me, and again, to my surprise, she lets me. “I’m your husband. Let me be chivalrous.”Let me treat you the way you deserve to be treated.
“You take your duties so seriously,” she murmurs.
She has yet to call me her husband, but when she does, hearing her say that word will be the sweetest victory.
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, reveling in her slight inhalation as my fingers coast along her jawline. “You’re mine, of course I take it seriously.” Stealing a kiss, I press my mouth to hers, teasing my tongue along her delectable lips and pulling away before she can shove me away. I release her and head into the house.
Her attention roves over me in a wave of heat. “Mace,” she says, a tiny growl in her voice. “You can’t keep doing that.”
“Why not?” I walk into the foyer, turning to watch her storm toward me, stopping a few feet away and dropping her hands to her hips. “God, you look fuckingdelectablein that dress.”
A flush crawls up her neck. “Stop it.”
“No.”
“I’m beginning to thinkyou get off on fighting with me,” she says, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.
“It took you this long to figure that out?” I ask with a shit-eating grin.
I get off on everything but her sadness. She hides it, like I hide my past, and it kills me that we share one truth. The world isn’t a kind place. It’s cruel and terrible, it’ll chew you up and spit you out and use your bones as a toothpick. There’s no purpose to any of this, not really.
But those are the types of things neither of us needs to say out loud.
She rolls her eyes. “You’re demented.”
“Maybe.”
Her stomach growls. She bites her lip and glances away.
“You’re hungry.”
“The portions were tiny,” she says, tone defensive.
I don’t like that she feels the need to justify herself. At some point, I’ll need the name of the asshole who made her feel bad about herself. “I’m starving,” I admit.
She focuses on me. “Oh?”
I nod. “Let’s go find something to eat.”
She bites back a smile. My wife isn’t ready to give them to me freely. Soon, though. I grab her hand, ignoring her protest, and lead her to a barstool at the island. “Sit.”
“Woof.”
Laughing, I run my thumb over the bottom of my lip, picturing her crawling toward me on all fours. She must see the intention in my gaze because she clears her throat.
“Wine?” she asks.