Page 103 of Desperate Games

“Stop it, Andy. Just stop.” His forehead presses to mine, rough breath spilling over my lips. “Don’t you get it? Don’t you know?”

“Know what?” My voice splinters. “How would I know anything if you don’t tell me?”

“Well, I’m telling you now.” His chest heaves like a caged animal, words molten steel.

“I married you because I wanted to. You just gave me an excuse to skip the formalities.”

“You mean I tricked you. I trapped you. And now you’re stuck.”

Tears blur my vision, hot and relentless. I don’t know if I hate him or hate myself more for this.

“No, Baby. That’s not how it went down at all.”

“Isn’t it?”

He shakes his head. His thumb strokes my throat, and I shiver.

“You are it for me, Andy. And while you might have been planning to make a baby without telling me, I was planning the same damn thing. Hell, I took myself in my own hand more times than I want to admit, picturing just that.”

My breath stutters. “Y-you did?”

“I did.” His jaw tightens, daring me to doubt him.

“Why?” The word scrapes out of me like it’s been clawed raw.

“Why? Because I love you. Do you hear me? I love you. And I want you—you crazy, beautiful, infuriating woman—only you. The rest of the world can burn for all I care.”

My knees almost buckle.

“You love me?”

“I love you, Mrs. Falco.” His voice drops, rough, reverent, shaking. “Even though you drive me fucking insane. Hell, maybe it’s because you do.”

And then his mouth crashes onto mine.

Brutal. Possessive. Desperate.

And God help me, I don’t just let him. I clutch at him, kissing him back like I’ll drown if I don’t, tasting the salt of my own tears and the fire of everything he is—everything I swore I couldn’t let myself want.

I melt into him, sobbing against his lips, tasting salt and need and the terrifying truth.

I love him too.

And it’s time I told him.

Chapter Thirty-Three-Remy

Pure joy is rushing through my veins like a bullet train and it’s all for one reason.

She’s jealous.

My gorgeous little wife is jealous and that means something else. it means she cares.

She has to.

You don’t get jealous unless you’re in deep, and knowing she is hurting because of me, well, that doesn’t make me happy. But her jealousy lets me know I’m not alone in my gut deep obsession for her.

If I’m lucky she’ll tell me she loves me soon. And I can’t fucking wait.