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“What?”
She still won’t look at me, so I grip her chin and turn her face toward me. “I want you. I’llalwayswant you.”
Her face twists with disbelief. “You don’t know that. This will—”
I don’t loosen my hold. “Idoknow that. You’re mywife. I meant those vows. You’re the only woman I’ve ever approached in a bar. I wouldn’t have given anyone else my mother’s ring. Risked a massive business contract because some drunk dick described how he would fuck her. You’re different, Scarlett. You matter to me, Red. I’d choose you over anyone. Anytime. Anywhere. Don’t doubt that.Ever.”
“I don’t want you to matter.” The statement rings with a sincerity her words usually lack.
“I know.” My response is instantaneous. But the words are filled with so much heat and longing, I expect them to leave scorch marks on my lips. I’m not sure when we became this. Whenshestarted to matter so damn much.
“But you already do.”
“I know that too.”
She shoves me. “Have a conversation with yourself, then.” Her tone has returned to the bossy one she usually uses with me.
I chuckle and pull her back to me. “You get your fill of the beach?”
She sighs and droops against me. “Yeah. I’m tired.”
I scoop her up and carry her down the dock bridal-style.
“What are you doing?” she murmurs.
“Carrying you.”
“Don’t stop,” she instructs, her voice sleepy.
“I won’t.”
“Don’t give up on me.”
“I won’t,” I repeat.
Scarlett is silent for the rest of the walk to the pier. She curls up on the boat’s seat as soon as I lay her down. The drive back to the villa takes ten minutes. I tie the boat up and lift her again. Her arms loop around my neck as she snuggles her head beneath mine. The neediness should feel constricting. Instead, I savor it. I slow my steps as I climb the stone stairs and cross the backyard, delaying the inevitable destination.
Most of the villa’s lights are on, shining through the darkness like a beacon. Scarlett blinks as we draw closer. Once we’re through the front door, I set her down. And she starts undressing. Her shoes go flying first. Then she’s twisting and yanking at the zipper of her dress. It falls, faced with her stubbornness. All of a sudden, there’s a whole lot of skin on display.
I scrub a hand across my face as she strolls across the living room in nothing but a pair of matching pink lace.
Fuck. Me.Of course,thisis the night she decides to give me a goddamn lingerie show.
And then that’s gone too.
Words get stuck in my throat as she walks toward me, totally naked. “Why are you still wearing clothes?”
“Because I’m not drunk.”
“I’mnotdrunk.”
“Okay,” I agree. Arguing with a drunk person is usually a fruitless exercise. Arguing with a drunk Scarlett would be like hitting my head against a brick wall: pointless and painful.
“I want you to fuck me.”
Jesus Christ.I was in no way prepared for a proposition. Yeah, I definitely thought about this happening tonight, but not like this. Not when I have no idea what she’s really thinking. Feeling. “Not like this.”
Annoyance flashes across her face, followed by hurt. It feels like a rusty knife. No matter what, we’re never on the same page at the same time. “Is it because I have tobegfor it?”
