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“Rory has never done anything without asking me first,” she bit out. “You made him do this.”
Noah shrugged. “I merely made the suggestion.”
“You bastard!”
“Call me another name, Sabella, and you’re going to regret it,” he warned her.
She had never cursed him during their marriage. She had rarely cursed.
She bared her teeth at him. “You arrogant damned misfit.”
That was it.
He dipped his shoulder, threw her over it, and turned for the stairs that led to the apartment.
He ignored the little fists beating at his back, the shrieks of rage, her attempts to kick out of his hold.
Sabella didn’t curse. She had never cursed. She had given him that haughty little good girl look every time he said “damn” and asked him if he really wanted their future children to hear that dirty word coming out of his mouth.
She had nearly broken him from cursing in two years. Now, if she wanted to handle the cursing she could deal with the consequences. Because it made him hornier than he had been to begin with and made him wonder what else he could convince her to say if he used just the right persuasion.
He slammed the apartment door behind them, locked it, then let her slide to her feet. He caught her fist as it slammed toward his face, then caught the other one and glared down at her.
“Enough!”
Something flickered in her gaze, some shred of trepidation as he released her wrists and stepped away from her.
“You are not firing Timmy.” She jerked that damned shirt around her like a shield.
“Rory is firing Timmy and as of today you’ll be back in the office where you belong,” he snapped, turning back to her in time to catch the sudden, overwhelming hurt that flashed in her face.
“No, I won’t be.” She squared her shoulders and faced him with a defiant lift of her chin and rage burning in her eyes. “Neither you nor Rory can enforce that one, Noah. I’ll burn this garage to the ground before I’ll let you take me out of it.”
Her expression was fierce, furious, and reminded him of the night he tried to force her to stay home rather than go out with her friends.
He frowned back at her. “Dammit, Sabella, you’re killing yourself out there. It’s hard, damned dirty work. There’s no sense in your having to labor like that. You could go to the spa. Get your nails done. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
Sabella fought to hold back the fury strangling her. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to scream at him and slap that arrogant, condescending expression off his face. At that moment, she could see where Duncan got the impression that Noah was just like Nathan. Superior. Certain of his own strength and determined to have his way. Nathan had gotten away with it simply because she hadn’t matured enough in their marriage to put her foot down while he was home. She had matured now. And this wasn’t Nathan. Noah wasn’t a SEAL who could be called out at any minute on a mission, and he wasn’t the man who had once claimed her soul, so he could go to hell as far as she was concerned.
“If I wanted a manicure then I would have one. If I wanted to sit back and play receptionist all day then that’s what the hell I would do. If I wanted another man to decide how I should act, dress, or present myself then I’d have one. That is not a part of your job description, Mr. Blake, and if you think you can make it happen then you can take a flying leap into hell.”
Noah stared back at her, shocked.
“Your husband dictated those things for you?” he asked her, feeling his guts ice over, because he knew he hadn’t.
She paused. He watched her expression soften, sadden. Her gray eyes flashed with arousal, and suddenly, her slender body seemed softer, sexier with whatever memories poured through her.
“No,” she finally admitted. “I dictated it, because it was what I thought he wanted. He liked his painted-up little wife. The nail polish and the pretty clothes and the helplessness.” She shook her head as he felt his chest clench at her sorrow. “He used to call me his little Southern Bella. He died before he ever learned what a complete imposter I was. Before he ever knew that I was just as knowledgeable about cars as any of his mechanics were. I loved Nathan. He was my heart and I gave him what he needed while I had him with me.” She flicked him a searing glance then. “But you’re not Nathan. And I don’t give a damn if you have what you need or not.”
Did she think he had given a damn about the frigging nail polish? Anger tore through him, not rage, not fury, but pure unbridled offense and male pride. Damn her, what pleased her had pleased him, but had she thought he had needed her to be something she wasn’t?
He tensed at the sexual, dominant surge of heat that filled his body. Before he could stop himself he was stalking toward her, jerking her to him.
“And did you get what you needed from him?” he rasped. “You’ve eaten me alive every time we’ve touched, Sabella. Did he fuck you like you needed or did you play the pretty little doll for him then too?”
“He gave me everything I needed,” she snarled back.
But he saw it. A little lie, just a little one. And he remembered the nights that she had tossed restlessly in their bed beside him. How he had felt, sometimes, that his Sabella needed something harder, something darker, than he had given her, but then thinking that it was only his own fantasies and needs that drove him to sense that.
