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“No. She won’t be shared. She’s mine exclusively. There’s no way she’s leaving me every other weekend to spend time with you.”
With that, he barks out a laugh loud enough to vibrate the bed. “I always felt like she only tolerates me because she wants to be near you. Now we know the truth. And no,” he adds, “no prenup. No splitting. No shared custody. And I’m not leaving our apartment unless you’re leaving with me. Now stop deflecting and answer my question. Dinner. On the balcony, or in the dining room?”
“Balcony.” It’s my compromise. My attempt to give him everything I have to give after a long day of flying and people-ing. “Please. We could sit out in the cool air and stare up at the stars.”
“And you could remain naked,” he prompts. “If you want.” Pushing up to stand and humming with approval when I panic and cling to his body, he sets me on my feet and cups my jaw, forcing me to my toes. “Put on anything you want to wear, Mayet. Underwear. Pyjamas. A swimsuit. Or a lab coat. Whatever makes you happy.” He drops his hands and squeezes my backside. “I’ll get dinner organized. Then once it’s done and the crew brings it to our room, we won’t see them again until tomorrow.”
“Sounds like the perfect honeymoon.” My heart thrums with appreciation. With pleasure as he continually hands me everything I want without a single moment of hesitation for the thingshemight want. We’re two grown adults born into two completely different worlds. He’s an extrovert and I’m… not. He was raised with four brothers, a father who paraded woman after woman through his home, soldiers who patrolled the grounds to protect its mafioso occupants, and whoever else thought to come for a visit on any given day.
Archer is accustomed to having people around.
And I… I am a single child whose parents worked outside the home and were absent most of my childhood. My company, when I was young, was whatever cartoon happened to be on the television. Except on the few occasions the power was shut off completely because my parents’ slave-like devotion to work wasn’t always enough to combat America’s crippling medical industry and its intent on burning through every cent they had. And I was a sickly kid who spent far too much time inside a hospital, strapped to machines and speaking to a bland, beige wall.
Archer and I are opposites in too many ways to count.
Itshouldbe problematic.
But somehow, the man makes it… not. He bends and contorts and massages our relationship daily, to make sure we continue to fit.
“Get dressed.” He taps my chin and takes a step back. “Be quick.”
“Wait.” I reach out before he can escape, grabbing the loop of his jeans and grinning when he spins back. His eyes are too pretty. The intelligence he keeps hidden behind them, almost terrifying in how easily he conceals what lurks. He’s an exceptionally dangerous man, but he presents to me, daily, with kindness. Gentleness. Compassion. Romance.
He doesn’t just glance back to catch whatever thought I might want to toss his way. He turns into me completely, giving me his whole and unwavering attention. Dropping his hands to my hips, he squeezes just tight enough to make me wonder if he might lift.
And if not, why not?
“Yeah?”
“I love you.” I wrap my arms around his neck and push up as tall as I can manage. Too often, he’s the only one in our relationship who expresses those sweet words. He’s the one who lays his heart on his sleeve and never seems to mind the vulnerability. “I just wanted you to know.” I press a gentle kiss to his lips. “That I love you. And that I appreciate you.”
“I love you, too.” He returns my kiss and smiles, so our lips curl up together. “I love fucking you, too.Mypussy.”
“Moment over!” I drop my arms and turn, when all he does is laugh. “I was trying to be romantic, Archer!”
“I was being romantic, too.” He slaps my ass and heads toward our door. “So I’m allowed to mention how pretty you are? And how I like your hair. And the way you smell of flowerssometimes. But the second a man mention’s his wife’s vagina, suddenly the moment is over?”
“You’re a mess.” I cross our suite, passing a three-seater couch and the fifty-inch flat screen TV mounted to the wall. Flipping the locks on the sliding glass doors, I shove them open with a grunt until sea air slams right into my face, blowing my hair back and moistening my skin.
If it was winter, I would be miserable.
But summer in the tropics means that mist on my skin is the perfect balm to a slightly warm bedroom.
“Order my dinner, Archer Malone.” I glance back at the bed when my phone chirps to life. But he looks too, his brows quirking in challenge. “Please.”
“No phone calls.” He sweeps the device up, silences the call, then tosses it down again. “She knows where you are. She knows you’re on your honeymoon, and whatever question she thinks she has to ask you…” He stops by the door and shakes his head. “No. She doesn’t.”
“Ignoring Aubree is rude.”
“Codependence is cute,” he counters smugly. “Mostof the time.” He takes out his own phone and shows me the screen, blank like that somehow proves some kind of superiority. “I’m calling the chef. Dinner will be here in probably twenty minutes. So get yourself decent. Or don’t.” He unlocks his phone and dials. “Definitely don’t wear panties. I don’t want to have to work as hard while in international waters.”
“You’re a pig. And I want a phone call with Aubs tomorrow.” I turn from the door and stare at the side of his face. “I can’t choose a wedding gown without at least talking it through with her.”
“Can’t talk it through with her. If you do, she’ll whine that she wasn’t invited. Can’t invite her because we’ve already left the mainland. Hey.” He talks into the phone. “Enrique. We’vedecided to dine in our suite tonight. Could you have our dinner sent up?”
Iwake the next morning and turn in bed to find Archer’s nose pressed to the ball of my shoulder. His leg draped over my thighs, and his hand cupping my bare breast.
Possession.
