“Picking me up and putting me down like a paperweight.”
She started sliding off the marble again, but just before her toes hit the floor, I snaked an arm around her waist so I could lift her again, this time setting her on the other side of the sink so I could look in the next set of drawers.
“I said stop!” She kicked her feet, causing her ridiculously high, red-soled heels to clatter to the floor.
This time, however, I stayed between her legs while I opened a cabinet next to us. Jackpot. “No.”
“Ronan.”
“Ari.”
“Let me down.”
“Again, no.”
Laney huffed adorably, sticking out that suckable bottom lip. “Why?”
“Because.” It was amazing. Just touching her made me feel calmer. “I like putting you right where I want you.” I wet a cloth under the running water, squeezed it out before raising it to her face. “Close your eyes.”
She frowned at the cloth, clearly wise now to what I was about. “But they—they worked so hard on all of this.”
“So, they earned their paycheck for the day. Now I want it off.” My voice came out rough. “I need to see my wife, Laney. Please let me take it off.”
She blinked, but her frown disappeared. “Hold on.”
I watched in horror as she reached up and peeled off two sets of fake lashes from her eyelids. “Jesus. That is fucking horrifying.”
“Ronan, you can’t tell me you didn’t know some women wear fake eyelashes. You had a regular room in Las Vegas, for Pete’s sake. What do you think all the showgirls are wearing?”
“Fair enough, but I’ve never watched them stretch their eyelids out like rubber bands when they take them off.” Ishuddered. “Promise me you’ll never make me see that again. I like your eyes the way they are.”
Laney shrugged. “They make my eyelids itch, anyway.”
“Can I take off the rest now?”
She nodded and held her face out for me to wash.
Ten minutes later, her skin was finally clear of the makeup, a few faint freckles visible again like stars at dusk, along with a few of the other things she probably thought were imperfections, but I had come to know as just her. The natural pinking on her cheeks from some mild rosacea. A tiny scar at the corner of her mouth that was probably from long ago acne or chickenpox. The shorter fringe of lashes that moved naturally and made her big green eyes that much more readable.
I didn’t stop there, removing pins and a hairpiece until the rest of her natural waves fell free over her shoulders, then going for the diamonds at her ears and neck. Finally, I reached behind her to unzip the dress, pulling it to her waist, then past her hips as she moved them up to help me. Eventually, she sat in only her underwear and her skin.
“There you are.” I pushed a lock behind her ear.
I bent down to kiss her, but she stopped me. “No. Not before you tell me what’s wrong.”
Fuck. Two weeks in, and she was starting to read me like one of her books. It didn’t help that with her, I seemed incapable of the kind of bullshit I regularly served to everyone else.
I wanted to tell her everything. About the call from Antoni. The underlying reasons for this marriage. The pressure to prove myself to people whose opinions I increasingly didn’t care about.
Instead, I kissed her, and this time, I didn’t let her pull away.
“I need you,” I muttered. “I… it’s been a shit day, Laney, and I just need my wife.”
Her hands rose to take hold of my shirt as she kissed me back like she couldn’t help it. “The stylists are right outside?—”
“Do I seem like I care?” I slid my palms up her full thighs, then hooked the edges of her underwear and yanked until they tore.
“Ronan, we can’t—” she gasped as I latched onto the side of her neck and sucked hard. “Ooh!—they’ll hear?—”
