Page 4 of Hurricane (Happy Hour #1)

Colby

F or the first time ever, Lucian respects my wishes, doing what I ask rather than what he wants.

He helps me into his SUV, ensures my seatbelt is fastened, and closes my door before striding around to the driver’s side with his long, thick legs.

When I saw the blood on my skin, the fortress I’ve constructed around my heart cracked a little. I need time to rebuild so he can never pry his way inside again.

The weekend I snuck off to Mardi Gras with my friends and drank too many hurricanes, I never expected to see him, let alone have him take me back to his room.

It took me forever to recover from the pain of abandonment and embarrassment that he saw the real me and bolted as soon as he could.

Obviously, that version of me, isn’t who he wants.

He’s just fulfilling a promise to our fathers and has enjoyed humiliating me ever since.

“You okay?”

No.

“I’m fine.”

“So fine that the car stopped, and you didn’t even notice.”

He’s right—I didn’t notice that he took me to his mansion rather than my apartment. I’m too tired to argue and drop my head back to the seat. “Please take me home. I’m not up for this tonight.”

Lucian returns to his old self, ignoring my request. Instead of hitting the ignition button, he climbs out, comes around to my side, and opens my door.

I keep my eyes clenched shut. “I don’t care about paint colors or furniture. Just stop being–”

“Everything between us doesn’t always have to be a battle. I only want to show you something and then I’ll take you home.”

Arguing is futile and just drags this night out even longer, so I unfasten my seatbelt and let him lead me inside his massive home.

We don’t stop in the foyer that showcases a formal living room on one side and an office on the other with a wide staircase in the middle. The interior fits him—masculine and dark, with hard edges and uncomfortable looking furniture.

He guides me to the left of the steps into a gourmet kitchen that opens into a more lived-in looking den with a leather wrap around sofa facing an enormous stone fireplace with an even larger TV that spans the entire width of the wall.

The hand that’s not cemented to my back curls into a fist and knocks on the wall opposite of French doors leading out to a patio and pool.

“This is coming down. I’ll rework the space so you can have a good size office too.”

Not sure I heard him right, I shake my head to clear away the brooding thoughts from him imprisoning me here. “I’m getting an office?”

He looks as surprised as I feel with his eyebrows shooting up to his black hair before his expression morphs into a grin.

God, he’s beautiful, especially when he smiles.

I know the adjective is normally reserved for women but there is no other word to describe him.

With his giant, muscular body, dark hair contrasting with iridescent blue eyes, and a chiseled jaw made even sexier with his faint beard, he’s a walking sex god.

Unfortunately, he knows it too.

“Yeah, honey bun. I’m not just marrying you because you’re gorgeous. I’m putting those brains and that education to good use.”

Well, this brain and that education fail me as I stare at him, too stunned to respond. That’s okay though because he keeps talking.

“We’re a lethal combination, baby. With my street smarts and intuition and your genius mind and book knowledge, we’re going to create an empire no one can ever fuck with.”

He already has an empire, but I guess reigning over this city isn’t enough. And he expects me to help him.

He believes I can help him.

Wow.

His wink drags me out of my astonishment from his confidence in me.

“So you have to let me know what you want so I can have it built for you.”

He’s right—I do want to argue. I feel like fighting him is the only way to keep from losing myself. Until now, the instinct to defy him has never waned. Although with this proposal the reflex of self-preservation is starting to waver. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. We’ve got time. We’ll be in Belize for at least a month. Can’t have my new wife working on her honeymoon.” He squeezes my ass before turning away and walking toward the front entrance again. “I have something else for you.”

The urge to protest gets steamrolled by him as always.

Before I can open my mouth to object, he’s out of sight.

I refuse to chase after him since I shouldn’t even be here in the first place.

Coming inside, letting him talk about our honeymoon, and even worse our life afterwards, without disputing his version of our relationship, is really dumb on my part.

Lucian returns with a small black box. I have no idea what’s inside the container but never in a million years did I expect him to lift out an engagement ring.

“I want you to wear it when you graduate.”

Disbelief explodes through me that he’s even coming to the ceremony. He’s never acted like he cared or supported my educational pursuits.

“It was my mother’s. I know it’s old-fashioned looking and the diamond’s too small, but I’ll make it up to you with the band.”

God! I hate it when he’s being sweet. But I hate even more that he thinks I’m materialistic and care about the size of the stone. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

When his face lights up, I feel giddy too.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Quick as always, Lucian has the ring out of the velvet insert and on my finger before I can process the bizarre sensation of being happy because he’s happy. Damn it. “I haven’t agreed to any of this.”

I despise how weak my voice sounds. As if I’ve given up.

As if I will stop fighting.

As if I’m accepting him bulldozing me into submission.

When I start to tug the ring off, his expression hardens and he yanks me to him, smashing my arm between us.

“Don’t.”

Just like at the restaurant, my body responds to his immense power, and I shudder. He drags his hands from my bicep to my neck, wrapping his fingers around my throat.

Desire crackles between us like electricity, and he growls in such a primal way I can barely control myself from moaning in response.

“It never comes off.” He squeezes tighter, stealing my oxygen for a second. “And if you try, I will add a mechanism so it can never be removed.”

Gasping for air, I rail against him. “You don’t control me.”

“That’s all you want Colby. You should just admit it.”

He only calls me by my real name when he’s serious. His grasp loosens, and I let my head fall back to breathe deeper. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he peppers my hot skin with kisses.

Boy is he fucked in the brain if he truly believes I want him to control me. “You’re crazy!”

“Only for you, Hurricane. Only for you.”

His tongue swipes over my racing pulse.

“My mark is going to look good on you.”

Now he wants to brand me like an animal.

Fuck that.

Fuck him.