Page 5 of Hurricane (Happy Hour #1)
Lucian
I love making her crazy.
Almost as much as I love making her scream.
Which is exactly what I want to do.
Spin her around, bend her over the table, and bury myself so deep my dick’s rearranging her guts.
But I have to control myself for a few days longer.
New Orleans was a mistake.
Well, not fucking her. That’s never a mistake.
Doing it without my intentions being apparent to her was an oversight.
I realize that now since she seems so shocked about being my partner not just my wife.
From the jump, I’ve known she’s beauty and brains combined in one perfect package. I’ve also known she loathes the idea of marrying me. If I’d been clearer, maybe she wouldn’t detest the idea so much.
Rage burns in her expression as she stares up at me.
“I’ll kill you before I let you put a tattoo on me.”
I honestly believe she would try. “Everyone needs to know you’re mine.”
“But I’m not and never will be.”
I loosen my grip and grab her arm wedged between us. I raise her hand and kiss the ring I just placed on her finger. “Someday you’ll be proud to be my wife.”
A brutal, ugly laugh rips from her succulent mouth.
“That will never, ever happen.”
The unadulterated contempt in her words perplexes me.
“I could never be proud of being married to a man who made me feel like a whore.”
What the fuck? Where did that come from?
Now I’m livid too. I admit I’ve enjoyed pushing her buttons and pissing her off over the years, but I’ve always treated her with respect. “What the hell are you talking about?”
She purses her lips together, and I lose her gaze as she shakes her head. “Forget it. Let me go.”
Attempting to break free from my hold, she twists and shoves against me. I lock her down quick. “You don’t get to drop a bomb on me like that and then expect me to take you home without an explanation.”
“Yes. I do.”
Backing her up a few steps to the cabinets, I box her in with my arms on each side of her body, palms flat on the island. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”
“No.”
God damn it. I slip my hands around her waist and lift her ass to the countertop so we’re eye to eye. She turns her head away and I turn it back. My fingers tangle in her hair, and I tug hard. “Tell me.”
“You’re hurting me.”
“I know. Now spill it.”
Closing her eyes, she attempts to shut me out but that isn’t an option. I pull harder, making her lids pop up.
The tears shining in them kill me. They’re not from physical pain. She’s hurting desperately, and I demand to know why.
“I woke up alone.”
Confusion overtakes me. Of course, she wakes up alone. Every damn day, I make sure of it. No man touches what belongs to me.
Her lip quivers with a shuddering breath.
“You used me and then you left me.”
Never have I seen her cry. Not once.
It’s even worse when I realize I’m the one who made her. “In New Orleans?”
Silence. Which is not okay. I have to draw the story out of her. “I wasn’t using you. I wanted you…Jesus did I want you…before it was time. I should have waited until the wedding.”
Lines cross her forehead. “Why?”
Why? I’m not a good man. We both know that. I might as well be honest. “Because I can’t stop thinking about that night. Every. Fucking. Day. I think about how amazing you are, how amazing we are together. And I need more. I need you.”
Her tears dry up, and she shoves at my chest, angry once again.
Thank fuck! I’d much rather see her rage than her sorrow.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me that? You just disappeared, and I never heard from you again.”
“Cause you blocked me, remember?”
“Only because you ghosted me.”
She’s yelling now and sexy as hell. “I didn’t ghost you. I text you that I had a meeting, so I had to go but I’d be back to pick you up. And I told that to your fake blonde friend too when she came beating on the door.”
The frown returns, deeper than before. “But I didn’t get a text, and Mirabel didn’t say anything about talking to you.”
“Then your phone’s broken and your friend’s a bitch. I came back to fly you home and you already checked out. Next thing I know you hate me even more than normal and try to go out with some moron who doesn’t deserve you.”
I cup her chin and squeeze hard to ensure her full attention. “You’re not a whore, and I swear to God I’d never treat you like one.”