Page 42 of His Forced Bride

I can't deny it when she's this close, when every breath I take fills my lungs with her scent, when the sight of her bare shoulders and the curve of her throat makes my hands ache to touch her.

"What I want," I say, voice rough with restraint, "is to keep you alive. Everything else is secondary."

"Liar."

The word is soft, but it hits deep.

"You want to own me."

"Yes."

I don't even hesitate to admit it.

"I want to own you. I want to mark every inch of your skin. I want you to carry my name and bear my children and never look at another man the way you look at me."

Her eyes widen, pupils dilating despite the harsh bathroom lighting.

"But first," I continue, stepping back before I do something we'll both regret,

"I want you alive and safe and free to create the designs that make you who you are. The rest can wait until tonight."

The distance between us feels charged.

She presses her palms against the wall behind her, as if she needs the support to remain standing.

"I hate you," she whispers.

"I know."

"I'll never forgive you for this."

"I don't need your forgiveness. I need your cooperation."

She pushes away from the wall with aggressive movements, then moves past me toward the bathroom door, her shoulder brushing mine as she passes.

The brief contact sends fire shooting down my spine, and I grip the edge of the sink to keep from reaching for her.

Tonight, she'll share my bed.

Tonight, I'll show her exactly what this marriage means, what belonging to me entails.

The thought sends anticipation coursing through my veins.

But first, the ceremony.

First, the legal bonds that will tie her to me permanently.

I straighten my tie and head downstairs, leaving the scent of her behind but carrying the memory of her skin against mine.

Inessa Mirova will become Inessa Gravitch.

Whether she's ready or not.

9

INESSA

Istare at my reflection in the guest room mirror.