Page 25

Warren’s arm is around my waist. He guides me to face him, his hold tightening around me. Our bodies are pressed together.

“It should be forbidden.” Warren leans down, pressing his mouth to mine. At first it’s only a brush, but it quickly changes. My fingers dig into the front of his suit as he deepens the kiss, his tongue thrusting into my mouth. I let out a small moan that he matches with his own groan. When he lifts his head, I gasp to catch my breath. The last few times he’s kissed me, I felt this greedy possessiveness coming from him. Warren might not be giving me words of love, but the way he kisses me says a lot on its own.

“I’m not forbidden anymore.”

“You’re my wife.” His eyes appear a darker blue. His eyes also convey a sense of possessiveness.

"Are you okay?" I find myself asking him.

"Are you worried about me?"

"I suppose. If you drop dead, they might make me marry Ronan or Z next," I say with a laugh. Warren's hold on me turns rigid. A coldness ripples down my spine. "I was joking."

"Don't," he clips, releasing me from his tight hold.

“Warren.” He takes my hand.

“It’s time.” He nods toward where two men are waiting to open the doors for us to enter.

“But—” I try to explain.

“We’ll discuss this later.”

“Right.” Because we do everything on his terms. How could I forget? God forbid I try to apologize on my own terms.

The two men pull back the curtains for us to enter. Everyone stands up and claps. It’s awkward, and I fight not to fidget and keep my chin up. Warren guides me over to our table, pulling out a chair for me. I give my mom a reassuring smile.

When the champagne glass in front of me is filled, I pick it up and take a big sip. Warren releases my hand, moving his to my thigh under the table. It’s an innocent touch, but it makes warmth bloom deep in my stomach, remembering that day in his office. How he’d made me come against the door.

That had been another one of those times Warren felt greedy for me. It made me feel powerful and sexy. He has a way of doing that, but then it slips through my fingers, making me wonder if I’d imagined it all.

"When they're done with the toasts, their attention will turn to the booze and food," Warren says next to my ear. I again peek over at him.

"We'll have to do the cake and dance stuff too. Right?"

"Not if you don't want to."

"Really?"

"I'll tell them all to fuck off." And they would without question.

"You can't tell our mothers to fuck off."

Warren's expression says otherwise. He would do exactly that.

"Please do not speak to my mom that way or yours, for that matter."

"Then I won't."

"It's that simple?” I ask.

"Generally. I can be reasonable."

"Oh, really?" A small laugh leaves me.

"I try, but I suppose I'm not fully reasonable with you."

"Because I'm different?"