Sure enough, Natalie hit me straight: "No matter what you offer, we're done. I'm not going back to being your perfect little Mrs. Winston, faking the socialite act day after day, then lying in bed waiting for you to grace me with your presence. I've had enough of that shit."
"God, is that how you see our marriage?"
"In my eyes, it's worse than I just said."
Looked like I wasn't getting through to Natalie tonight. She was tougher than I expected.
I dropped the persuasion angle and stepped closer. "Whether you agree or not, you're coming with me tonight. You know I can make that happen, and I bet you don't want it to go that far."
"Oh, really? If you try, I'll go to court for a restraining order. You know I can do that." Natalie stared me down, defiant, but her slight tremble gave away. She wasn't as cool as she looked.
Restraining order.
No one had ever dared say that to me.
I watched her stubborn face, then grabbed her arm. So damn thin—I could snap it with a twist. I shoved her back against the door; she hit with a grunt. No time for her to react—I leaned in, trapping her between me and the wood.
Close enough to count her lashes. Feel her chest rise and fall. Close enough my cock hardened, straining against my pants. Any more, it'd rip right through.
I couldn't take it. Desire overrode everything. I dipped my head and kissed her hard.
I should've done this sooner.
Natalie's lips were cool and soft, stiff as stone when I hit them. I pried her teeth open without mercy, diving in, tangling, making damn sure she remembered this—remembered who her man was, who got to touch her like this. At first, she didn't respond, like a lifeless doll. That pissed me off more. I pinned both her wrists above her head against the door with one hand, easy as hell, and cupped the back of her head with the other, forcing her to take the kiss, forcing a response.
Then Natalie started fighting.
Not some half-assed pushback—this was full-on, all-out struggle. She twisted, tried to knee me, but I blocked it with my leg. A muffled whine came from her throat, like a trapped animal. That fight... fuck, it made me harder. The wilder she got, the more I wanted to break her. Crush her into me, make her cry and admit she was wrong, beg that she still belonged to me.
The thought snapped my control. I broke the kiss from her lips, trailing down her jaw to her neck, marking her collarbone.
She shuddered, breath ragged. "Let go... Richard... you bastard..."
"This is being a bastard?" I panted, lips against her ear. "Baby, I've got worse."
I released her wrists, sliding my hand down her side, bunching up the hem of that baggy tee. Her skin was warm, smooth, quivering under my palm.
I wanted more, needed to confirm that under this shitty shirt, it was still the body I knew.
My hand hit her waist and froze.
I remembered the California report: she'd bought a ton of loose clothes lately. I'd figured she'd been eating better without me, even thought about hiring some Vegas chefs. But now... this wasn't fat. Fat didn't curve like this.
I stopped kissing.
Natalie felt it.
She shoved me hard with both hands, yanking the sweatshirt down to cover her belly. She looked up, panic in her eyes sharper than when she'd first seen me tonight.
God.
"You're pregnant."
"No," she denied fast. "You're imagining things. I just—"
"Don't lie to me, Natalie." My voice came out low, like a whisper edged in ice. "You know if I want, I can find out which hospital, which doctor, which day. Tell me the truth. Now."
I stared, catching every flicker on her face. She went rigid, chest heaving. She looked away, lips pressed into a pale line. Silence. Long, suffocating silence.
