Page 141 of The Billionaire's Secret

He sets his jaw, "What about them?"

"Did you get them when you were kidnapped?" I swallow, "Did they do this to you?"

"What's it to you?"

"Not all of the scars are old."

"What do you mean?" He lowers his arms to his lap, his movements deliberate, "What are you trying to say, Victoria?"

Shit. When he calls me by my full name, it's never a good sign.

"Just that, if you're trying to hurt yourself..."

He rises to his feet and my heart thuds in my chest. I have to look up, have to sweep my gaze up every ripped inch of him to meet his gaze.

His eyes blaze, then a shutter comes over his face. "I'm not." He steps around me and heads for the shower door.

"Saint," I jump to my feet, turn toward him, "you can talk to me."

"Oh?" He straightens. "And why would I do that?"

"I'm your wife."

He turns then and his lips curve in a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, "Fake wife, darling."

I wring my fingers together, "You don't mean it, you are simply lashing out at me because you are confused inside."

"We spent some time together; the sex was okay," he tilts his head, "sometimes."

Bastard.

"Don't go mistaking the last few days for some kind of intimacy between us." His lips twist, "It was a transaction, make no mistake."

I swallow. My throat hurts and my eyes burn. Was I wrong to imagine that the last few weeks had shifted the tone of the relationship between us? No, itcan'tbe. I tip up my chin, "You're lying."

"And you..." He looks me up and down, "You are replaceable." Turning he grabs a towel, and leaves.

34

Saint

No one can replace her and that is the problem.

I dry myself with the towel, then toss it aside.

She has crawled under my skin, sunk into my blood and I can't get enough of her. I'd been heading to work the last three weeks every day—including weekends—because hell, I had to make a point to her, and to myself, that I’m not dependent on her. This entire sham of a relationship will be over soon enough. She is going to trip up and expose the real reason she propositioned me. I'll walk away from her then, and what... Find another? I ball my fists at my sides. What will happen to her once I find out her secret? Where will she go? If she thinks the Mafia will let her walk away, she is being awfully naïve. They'll kill her. My heart begins to thud and a cold sensation coils in my chest. I can't let that happen. I'll figure out a way to extricate her from whatever mess she is in...regardless of whether there is a chance for us together. Fuck. I pace the carpeted floor the water drying on my skin. Whatiswrong with me? Why can’t Ifight this need to... What? Take care of her?

I'd let down my guard enough to take off my socks today. That...has never happened before. Not when I’m in the dressing room of the gym, nor with any other woman. The socks stay on, always. I am not hiding the scars... It’s more that I don't want to answer any questions about them.

Have I become so relaxed in her presence that I had not only taken off my socks, but also had allowed her to wash me? A first. No one had been given that privilege...before her. I had begun to look forward to coming home to her— Home? Did I call this hotel suite—which is a transient place to stay, at best—home? Is it home because she is here? Why do I enjoy waking up with her coiled into my side? What is Gigi doing to me? Whatever it is, it has to stop.

The bathroom door opens, a cloud of steam wafts out, and from it, she steps forward into the room.

I draw in a breath.

She's naked.

Not that I hadn't seen her without clothes earlier. But the sheer impudence with which she glides forward—head high, spine straight, perky breasts thrust up, breasts that tremble with every step she takes—that's different. She hasn't shown that fighting spirit of hers over the last few weeks. Perhaps I've been too busy taking what she offers, I haven't challenged her recently, and damn, if I haven't missed the thrust and parry between us. She walks around the bed to her side.