Page 73 of Wicked Sinner

“We don’t have to keep bringing that up.”

“Oh, I think we do.” She moves toward the edge of the tub, closer to me, leaning against it. “It reminds me that you’re the kind of man who would cheat on his wife.”

My throat tightens. “I would never cheat on you.”

“Oh?” One of her eyebrows rises. “Why am I different?”

Fuck. I feel like I can’t fucking breathe looking at her, let alone speak eloquently. “Because you’re the only one I wanted in the first place.”

From the expression on her face, that answer wasn’t good enough. She slides further down in the water, and my cock throbs, every cell in my body aching to join her.

“I’ll be down in a little while,” Bridget says, in a tone that tells me I’m no longer wanted up here, and that I really never was at all. “What are we doing for dinner?”

The way she says it is so easy, so casual, that for a moment I can imagine this is real. I can imagine that this isn’t temporary, that she never put conditions on our marriage, and that in a little while I’m going to take this gorgeous woman out to dinner, before bringing her home and having my dessert.

“I’m not sure,” I manage. “I’ll figure something out. Takeout, I guess.”

Bridget snorts. “Your idea of takeout and mine are very different.” She cocks her head. “Do you know how to cook?”

I nod. “I just prefer not to.”

“Hmm.” She smirks. “Must be nice to not have to.”

“It is.”

We stare at each other across the space between us for several long minutes before Bridget swims back to the other side of the hot tub, turning her back on me again. It gives me the opportunity to look at her a little longer, but I can’t stand there staring forever.

In fact, when it comes to Bridget, nothing is forever.

Not even the vows we made.

19

BRIDGET

Iwake up the next morning to the smell of coffee and something that might be pancakes.

For a moment, I'm disoriented, forgetting where I am, just like every other morning I’ve woken up here. I blink fully awake, and for a second, I feel the panic of being trapped in this penthouse again.

Then I see the gold band on my finger catching the morning light, and it all comes rushing back.

I agreed to marry Caesar Genovese. I’m his wife, at least for now. And I’m no longer a prisoner.

Just a very reluctant guest.

The clock on the nightstand tells me it’s a little before eight. I sit up slowly, rubbing my hands over my face, still not entirely used to how luxurious everything is here. The sheets are impossibly soft, the duvet light as a feather and silky to the touch, the pillows to die for. I’m going to steal at least two of them when I finally leave here.

Because Iamleaving. Eventually.

The look on Caesar’s face yesterday when he came up to find me in the hot tub flickers in my memory. No one has ever lookedat me the way he does—like he’s starving for me, like he’d give anything for even a single repeat of that one night we spent together.

It’s intoxicating to see him look at me like that. It makes me falter. Makes me wonder how bad it could really be to give in one more time.

It’s exceedingly dangerous, especially since right now, he holds all the cards. He’s the only thing protecting me.

This needs to be business, and nothing more. A practical arrangement, not a passionate one.

The smell of food is getting stronger, so I pull on a robe over my sleep clothes and pad barefoot toward the kitchen. What I find stops me in my tracks.