“I know what they are. I thought—” I realize I wanted her to discuss the matter with me before making the decision. Not because I want to meddle in her affairs, but because she knew she married into a cutthroat and capable legal dynasty. Wouldn’t she want my advice before making her selection?
If she didn’t want to entrust Huxley & Webber with her legal issues, I could’ve referred her to somebody less annoying than Ethan Beckman. Like Ken Honishi from Ellis & Honishi LLP. He’s all proper, strait-laced even for a lawyer, but he harbors the viciousness of a barracuda underneath the spotless black Armani suit he wears like a uniform.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” Lareina explains with a smile. “You were at work and had things to do. And sorting out my inheritance will keep me busy, just the way it should be.”
Something about the way she phrases that feels off, but I can’t place my finger on it. Before I can sort out my feelings, she disengages herself from my arm and gives me a little wave.
“Anyway, good night.” She starts to turn left at the top of the stairs.
“Our bedroom’s this way.” Catching her wrist, I tilt my chin to the right.
“You mean yours. I set up mine over there.” She gestures behind her. “To ensure you have your space, and we can maintain our boundaries.”
What the hell? What is she talking about? “My wife sleeps in my bed.”
She considers for a moment. “Isn’t that a bit clingy? Makes us too in each other’s faces?”
Is that why she didn’t say anything before hiring Beckman? Besides, what does being clingy have to do with her sleeping in my bed? “Isn’t sex clingy too? And you can’thavesex if you aren’t in each other’s faces.” It’s bluntly put, but I’m not sure where she’s coming from.
She frowns. “Well. That’s different.”
“How?”
“We can have sex in my room or yours, then just walk back to our own rooms.”
I scoff. “Ridiculous.”
“Why? I gave it a lot of thought, and this way is logical. Plus it respects all our boundaries.”
Ourboundaries? “If you can still walk afterward, I didn’t do a good job.”
“That only happens in books.” She gives me a flinty stare. “I’ve read romance novels, Ares. Being a virgin doesn’t mean I’m totally ignorant.”
“Not true. If you’re blithely walking back to your room, it was we-should-never-do-it-again awful,” I argue, even though I’m aware of my contrarian behavior. But I don’t enjoy being told I’m not welcome to sleep in my wife’s bed. So I remind her of theconditions she set out in Vegas regarding our sex life: If the sex is terrible, we won’t be doing it again.
“Yeah, right.” Skepticism flashes in her eyes.
It’s both challenge and dare. I narrow my gaze. “Let me demonstrate.” I throw her over my shoulder, the same way I did in Vegas when I carried her out of the hotel under the futile watch of her aunt’s goons.
Lareina yelps, then slaps my back. “Hey, put me down!”
“Trying to conserve your energy.”
“But my room—”
“If you can walk back to your room after we’re done, I’ll let you have it your way.”
She gasps, then smacks my ass. Twice. She isn’t strong enough to make it hurt, but it’s still hot as hell. A kitty with her claws out.
“Keep that up, and you’ll never leave the bed,” I say lazily, then I slap her ass, which is nice and taut bent over my shoulder.
“You animal!”
“Guilty as charged.”
Chapter Twenty
Lareina
