Page 55 of The Wrong Husband

"What?!" Her jaw falls open.

I manage to stifle the chuckle crawling up my throat, enjoying her shock and surprise. Not that I don’t want to be inside of her. I want nothing more than to feel her snug walls close around my throbbing shaft. But not yet.

First, I want her to enjoy the foreplay. I want every part of her body to feel like it’s awake and open to receiving. I want her cells to tremble with yearning, the way I feel inside. I want to see the stubbornness that’s such an inherent part of her awaken. I want to see the fight in her stance. For every time I challenge her, she rises beautifully to the occasion. She comes alive like a flower opening its petals to the sun. Allowing herself to live in the moment. That is the woman I want to see more of. So, I nod.

"What are you willing to do for this orgasm, baby?"

She frowns. I wonder if it’s because of the nickname I used, but then she bites out, "Anything. I’ll do anything for it. Please use your fingers or, preferably, your tongue, or even better, your big fat cock on me, please?"

I bark out a laugh. "You surprise me at every turn."

The skin around her eyes softens. "And you… Are a bundle of contradictions. Diamond hard on the outside. Oozing with softness inside."

I reel back as if she’s struck me. "Soft? You must be mistaken."

"Am I?" A knowing look comes into her eyes. "You dropped everything to help out a friend—my brother, in this case. Never mind, it was to do something not strictly legal. Still, you couldn’t turn down his plea. Then, you found out about my ER being in trouble. You took advantage of it to spring that crazy scheme about marrying me—again, it’s an idea in a gray area—but underneath it was this desire to help me."

I stalked her because I was obsessed with her. I used her weakness—the fact that she needs help and would not ask her own family for it—against her. Yet she sees it as evidence of my caring disposition.

A part of me is angry thatshecan be so gullible.

That she chose to give me the benefit of the doubt throws light into the darker corners of my soul. This curvy, intelligent, sensuous woman sees through the mask I wear for the world.

Deprived of the love of a mother, with a weak father, and an overbearing grandfather who equated nurturing with enforcing his brand of exacting discipline, my brothers and I grew up in a loveless atmosphere.

My brothers found solace in the discipline of the Marines—the rules honing them into weapons effective in times of conflict.

My older brothers have been lucky to meet women who’ve redeemed them.

But I haven’t held out such notions for myself. I’ve taken on enough missions where I had to hide my true self, so I haven’t had to face my own ghosts. It's much easier to subsume myself in a character.

The fact that this woman has seen through my façade makes me panic. And angry that she sees me so clearly. The need for her builds to a crescendo.

The need to punish her… To punish myself for wanting her so much. For becoming dangerously addicted to her in a way I swore I’d never allow myself to depend on another.

I slip my fingers under the waistband of her yoga pants, and in one smooth move, I jerk them down her legs and off, along with her clogs.

She gasps and begins to close her thighs, but I grip each one and stop her. I stare at the wet patch on the crotch of her panties, and a fierce satisfaction grips me. "Look at you, already so wet and ready for me." I cup her pussy. "The heat from your core could melt the devil himself. And I am but a man."

She makes a sound at the back of her throat, and when I jerk my chin up to look at her face, it’s to find her panting.

Her pupils are blown, the hazel having turned to a thin circle of gold blazing around the black infiltrating them. Her lips are parted, pulse beating wildly at the hollow of her neck.

"You’re a goddess." I jerk my chin. "Raise your arms."

When she does, I pull off the T-shirt, then lean back on my heels. I take in the black lacy bra, with demi cups over which her breasts spill. Her aureoles are a shadow against the fabric, her nipples buttons of delight that peak the longer I stare at them.

My eyes move down to her narrow waist, the flare of her hips encased in the sheer panties forming a pair with her bra. "Did you wear this for me, hmm?"

She moans, then shakes her head. "Why would I?"

"Because you knew I’d come for you. Because you knew I wouldn’t keep away. Because you knew you’d spun your web, and I’m caught, and I wouldn't be able to rest until I have you."

20

Phoenix

I wore this for him.