Page 39 of Claimed By the Villain

I’m not a refined man. I have money. Plenty of it. But there isn’t a single ounce of nobility in my body.

I was born and raised among drug dealers and addicts. Killers and kidnappers.

Blood, death and pain have always been a constant in my life. And while Jackie thinks we’re the same, we’re not. She also comes from a family of criminals, but they had a family unit, a foundation.

I have nothing to offer in a marriage package except myself and my protection over her. But I don’t think that’s enough, so, even though it wasn’t my initial thought, I decide to negotiate.

“Five years,” I say as I sit down and gesture for her to help herself to the meat with mashed potatoes and vegetables I ordered from an expensive local restaurant.

“What?”

“Five years of marriage will be enough,” I tell her, but before I go on, I decide she deserves my honesty. “I’m giving you the illusion that you have a choice, but the truth is, you don’t.”

I have no idea why I set such a long deadline. Maybe because the way she moans my name when she comes has become my favorite addiction. Maybe because the warmth of her body, the softness of her skin, makes me want more time with her. Maybe because I’m finally surrendering to the fact that I want her, that I’ve wanted her since that night at the club, or maybe even before.

The promise I made to Martin doesn’t justify my obsession. I probably started because of the deal I made with him to protect her, and because I told her I’d always be around. But it’s more likely that I’ve been chasing her for my own reasons.

She’s still trembling from her recent orgasm. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright from the journey on my tongue.

Beautiful, irresistible, and soon to be mine.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t, but can we talk after dinner?”

Unusually docile, Jackie nods.

I pour us some water.

“Eat. I’ll explain everything later.”

While I watch her cut a piece of meat, I try to imagine myself in a domestic life.

I think back to Beau’s offer, which I’ve already accepted, to take over all of his clubs with Roman.

Before leaving New Orleans yesterday, I asked him what he’d get out of it. His answer was that, aside from being fed up with nightlife because of family matters, I’d get to stay alive if I took over the business, because I wouldn’t be risking myself on missions around the world anymore.

We eat in silence for about twenty minutes, each lost in our own thoughts. All of mine, however, revolve around the beautiful woman in front of me.

“I was ambushed on a trip to South America two months ago,” I begin when she finishes and sets her silverware down. “They tried to kill me by blowing up a hotel I was in. A friend rescued me, but I was in a coma for thirty days.”

“You were hospitalized there?” she asks, looking horrified, and that’s one of the things I love most about Jackie. She’s compassionate, with a heart bigger than the world, and I know right now she’s picturing me alone, abandoned in a hospital, completely unconscious.

“No. A friend brought me back to Louisiana as soon as the doctor cleared it.”

“You flew while in a coma?”[9]

“Yes. It wouldn’t have been safe for me to stay in Bolivia.”

“My God!”

“He’s the one who looked after you the whole time I was out.”

She nods, like she’s saying she knows that when I can’t be around, I send someone to watch over her. Then she asks:

“Do you know who wants you dead?”

I notice the worddeadescapes her with difficulty, as if just thinking it causes her pain.