Page 29 of Precious Hazard (Perfectly Imperfect #11)

Shortness of breath. Unfocused gaze. The way her hands tremble while she squeezes mine tightly.

Typically, I’m a lot more observant of my surroundings.

If this were anyone else, I likely would’ve spotted it immediately.

But Tara has always had an uncanny ability to push my buttons.

She does it like no one else. Around her, my entire mental capacity is split between fighting my attraction and trying to curtail just how furious she makes me feel.

I’ve been seething since the instant the hall doors opened, and my fiancée, clad in black, appeared on the doorstep.

But looking at her now, so fragile all of a sudden and falling apart in my arms, my fury evaporates, transforming into grave concern.

“Breathe,” I whisper.

“I’m… trying.” She sounds terrified. Her voice is shaky.

Fuck.

My gaze falls on her slightly parted lips.

Everyone is waiting for the kiss while we look like we’re exchanging words of love.

I wasn’t going to kiss her. I couldn’t let myself get close to that bewitching mouth again.

I had no idea how I was going to weasel out of it without making a scene or drawing attention, but right now it no longer matters.

She’s having a panic attack.

Without a better idea of what to do, I take the only possible action.

One that I promised myself I would never repeat.

I slam my mouth to hers.

Fire flashes to life inside my veins, scorching every cell in my body. It consumes me so completely that the cheers exploding around us are insignificant blips on my radar. Nothing matters. Nothing but the delectable woman clinging to me.

I devour her lips like a starving man. For weeks, I’ve imagined doing this, needing to know if my next taste of her would rival the previous two. It’s more. So much more. Sweeter. Intoxicating. Invigorating.

A jolt of pure power zips straight into my gut.

Or maybe a bit lower.

After a beat of hesitation, she returns the kiss with a vigor equal to mine and buries her fingers in my hair. Squeezing the strands, scraping her nails against my scalp. Dainty, sharp teeth sink into my lower lip. The wild little kitten bit me.

I bite her back.

Wanting to deepen the kiss, I tilt my head and feel something odd brush against my cheek.

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I realize it’s her veil.

Without breaking our lip-lock, I slide my hand to the top of her head, pull off the stupid band with that netty-looking thing, and throw it behind me.

As if a black wedding dress wasn’t enough, she added a mourning veil to her attire.

“No one has ever defied me as you’d done today,” I murmur into her mouth.

“Good,” she mumbles back. “It’s imperative to keep your enormous ego in check.”

My lips twitch with silent laughter. She seems to be back to her old self again.

The raucous applause and cheers have died down, and only polite clapping remains. We probably have gone beyond the acceptable wedding kiss, but I don’t care about any of that right now. Tara’s flavor has become ambrosia to me. With every taste, my craving for her grows.

I slide my palms to her butt, lifting her higher, closer, settling her pelvis to rest over my crotch.

She immediately wraps her legs around my waist, with only the layers of our clothing between us.

Hopefully, that skirt of hers will hide just how hard my dick is.

It’s been ready to break through my zipper since the instant our lips connected.

Pain shoots across the back of my head as she tugs on my hair, all the while her mouth keeps attacking my lips.

Wild little kitten. As she lets go of my strands, her palms glide along my neck to settle on my tie.

And then, she starts loosening the knot.

I growl deep in my throat and seize her chin with my fingers.

“Your crisis management stunt is top-notch.” I smile, drinking in the sight of her.

Flushed cheeks, hair in complete disarray, makeup smeared all over her complexion, and she’s panting like she’s suddenly been cut off from her life support.

“After this, nobody will even remember your wedding dress.”

Two brilliant green pools, framed by the longest dark lashes, gaze at me in confusion. “What?”

“You trying to rip my clothes off at the altar, in front of all of our guests, may have shocked everyone into forgetting your black gown.”

She blinks, then slowly looks toward the gathered assembly, at the hundreds of people staring back at us, dumbfounded. The room is deathly quiet. The crowd is holding its collective breath.

Tara’s focus snaps to me. Instead of confusion, that panicked look is back in her eyes, and her lower lip is quivering.

“I….” The grip of her legs around my middle tightens. “I… Can we please leave?”

“That’s the plan. The reception has been set up in the banquet hall next door.”

Whatever color remained on her skin before, drains. As if unexpectedly exhausted, she wraps her arms around my neck and buries her face in the hollow of my throat. “I don’t think I can handle the crowd anymore today.”

My nostrils tingle with the fragrance of her strawberry shampoo.

The sweet and slightly tart aroma of freshness, summer, and just her.

I inhale it, soak it in. Revel in her essence.

I should insist we attend our reception, make her suffer through hours of uncomfortable toasts and grand posturing.

It would be a fitting punishment for what she pulled today.

She needs to know from the beginning that my tolerance for disrespectful behavior is less than zero. Even when it comes to my wife.

But as I hold Tara’s trembling body in my arms, instead of a defiant wildcat, she seems like a neglected kitten, shivering in the rain.

I’m instantly flooded with an urge to protect her, keep her away from harm.

I want my arms to shield her from this day forward.

I want to be the one she turns to for warmth.

Which is beyond idiotic, considering most of the time I can’t be in the same room as her without losing my fucking mind.

Not to mention, this kitten is more than capable of scratching my eyes out with her tiny claws.

But not today. She’s given up the fight.

My eyes scan the room, taking in the guests still seated in rows, waiting with visible confusion for us to make our recessional down the aisle. We should have exited by now, not continued to stand at the altar for minutes on end.

“There’s no way in hell we’re going to incite an even grander scandal by not showing up to our own wedding banquet, Tara.”

“My teeth are at your carotid artery, Satan.” Her lips feather along my skin as she whispers into my neck. “Wanna make this a blood-drenched wedding?”

I can’t help but laugh. Her voice is weak and shaky. She’s still reeling, but she’s not letting it stop her from delivering the threat. My feisty wildcat.

Shifting my hold beneath her ass, I fish my phone from my jacket and dial my driver.

“Riggo. I need the car at the back entrance.”

***

“So? Now what?” Tara asks, lifting the train of her dress off the car floor.

I ignore the incoming call from Cosimo and focus on my sweet bride. The moment we got out of the venue, she all but leaped from my arms and rushed into our awaiting ride. Since then, she’s been brooding in her seat beside me. These are the first words she’s spoken in the past twenty minutes.

“Now, we get you settled in your new home. Your things should have arrived already.”

“I only have one home. And you made me leave it behind, along with everything else. Family. Friends. My freedom.”

“Are we really going to rehash this again? We made a deal. Stop whining about everything like it’s the end of the world.”

“I’m not whining! How can you expect me to be thrilled about being forced to spend a year of my life living with a man I hardly know?”

“I think we’ve gotten to know each other well enough.

” My phone is ringing again, so I reach for it and glance at the screen.

Nino Gambini. Probably calling to find out where the hell we are.

“I have a packed schedule over the next few weeks. Aside from regular business shit, there are several social engagements that I’m expected to attend. I’ll send you the link to my calendar.”

“Why do you think I give a crap about your social life?”

“As outlined in our agreement, you will accompany me to each one, Tara. Make sure your attire is suitable.”

“Aye, aye, Satan.” She shoots me a condescending grin. “Any further instructions?”

“Yes. Stop addressing me like that.”

“And how would you like to be addressed? Your Highness? Mr. DeVille, maybe?”

“Arturo would suffice. Or, there’s always ‘darling.’”

“Absolutely, darling .”

The car slows down, making a turn toward the gate, and beyond it, the house.

“Do you have something against my name?” I ask.

“Why?”

“Because you haven’t used it. Not once. It’s always DeVille .”

Tara looks away. “Seems like my stuff has arrived.”

The car rolls to a stop next to a sizable moving truck parked at the front entrance of my house. A mountain of bags and boxes is piled on the porch, almost completely blocking the door.

“You sure you packed everything?” I ask, stepping out of the car and holding my hand out to help Tara as she follows.

“I think so,” she singsongs, completely ignoring my gesture, “but Drago will drop off anything I may have left behind.”

“I was being sarcastic, Tara. What the hell do you have in those things?”

“Books. Clothes. Books. My favorite recliner. Bookshelves. More books.”

I shake my head. Christ . “That won’t all fit in Sienna’s old room.”

“Hmm, that’s too bad. I suppose, then, I’ll need the biggest room you have.”

“That would be the primary bedroom. And as it happens, that belongs to me.” I lean down to whisper in her ear. “Are you offering to share the bedroom with me?”