Page 39 of The Temporary Bride

Once they’re in place, shrouding us from prying eyes, I turn back to face her. She stands abruptly, defiance in her eyes as if rising to meet a challenge.

I stride toward her, closing the distance between us.

“You told me I could decorate however I wanted,” she reminds me, her voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of something I can’t quite place.

I nod, acknowledging her statement. “I know. And I meant it.”

She arches an eyebrow, doubt and distrust clear in her expression. Waiting for the next challenge or for the other shoe to drop, I guess. But she’s wrong about what I was trying to accomplish by approving the purchase and buying more of the artwork she selected.

“I take care of what’s mine,” I say, my words deliberate. “I told you that already. And I don’t make promises lightly.”

Her brow creases in confusion, her lips parting slightly and then closing again.

“I’m not fucking around,” I continue, my gaze unwavering. “Maybe neither of us wanted this or asked for it, but as long as we’re married, you’re mine to protect. Mine to care for.”

She shifts almost uncomfortably, disbelief in her eyes. A flicker of frustration simmers within me. I meant every word, and it bothers me that she still doesn’t trust my intentions. What would it take to earn her trust? To make her believe that I’m on her side?

And should I really want that? Or am I playing with fire?

“I know we’ve spent years at each other’s throats, viewing each other as the enemy.” I step closer, the distance between us narrowing. Taking her hand, I run my thumb over her engagement ring—a promise I intend to keep. “But this is going to be a wedding ring soon. You’re going to be my wife, Chloe Dawson. Whether you want it to or not, that means something.”

Her eyes search mine, defensiveness mingling with uncertainty. Her pupils are blown wide, and I can see the thrum of her pulse in her throat.

“What does it mean?” she whispers.

“It means,” I breathe, tipping her face up with my free hand, “that I’m yours. And you’re mine.”

She sucks in a breath, her pupils expanding, and everything about her overwhelms my senses. We’re so close now that I can smell her perfume, soft and floral, and it only makes me want her more—like standing too close to something you know you shouldn’t touch but can’t quite make yourself step away from.

Her eyes drift down to my thumb, still stroking slowly over her engagement ring and the soft skin of her finger beneath it. Her tongue traces her lower lip, and her chest rises and falls faster. There’s an awareness between us, glowing and building, neither of us doing anything to address it or put a stop to it. I’m not sure either of us could at this point, even if we wanted to.

Chloe might keep herself buttoned up tight, but right now, standing this close to her, I can feel the warmth coming off her skin, can see the slight unsteadiness in her breathing, and I know she’s not as unaffected as she wants me to think she is.

I don’t think even she could deny that there’s something pulling between us. Something that’s been pulling since the moment she walked through my door today, and probably long before that if either of us were being honest about it.

Then her gaze snaps back to mine, and something in her eyes has changed. She looks as defiant and strong-willed as she always has as she shakes her head. “I’m not yours yet. Not until we say our vows.”

My jaw clenches involuntarily. The way she says it so evenly, so matter-of-factly, bothers me for some reason.

I hold her gaze and lift a brow. “If that’s true, then why are you breathing so shallowly?” She lets out a small, indignant breath, and I keep going. “And why are your pupils blown out? If you’re not mine, then tell me why you’re leaning closer to me right now.”

A shiver moves through her, subtle but noticeable. Still, she straightens and locks her gray eyes on mine, her expression composed. “If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s this. I don’t beg.”

I almost smile, because even as the words leave her mouth, her face tilts up toward mine and her lips part. I hold her gaze for just a second longer, long enough to infuse the silence with an electric tension.

“We’ll see about that,” I murmur.

And then I crash my lips against hers.

Chapter 13

Chloe

Tristan’s mouth is firm and demanding against mine, and the kiss is so unexpectedly intense that I can’t help the small noise that escapes me as my lips part under his.

That’s apparently all the encouragement he needs, because his tattooed arms wrap around me, pulling me tight against the hard planes of his muscled form. My hands find their way to his neck without any input from the rational part of my brain, and my body arches against his like it’s been waiting for an excuse.

Something about him has been pulling at me since the will reading, and not just because of what his name on a marriage certificate means for my family’s company. I can’t remember the last time someone got through the walls I’ve spent years building, and I know that’s not an accident. There’s still a voice in the back of my head pointing out that this is a line I can’t uncross, but it’s getting harder to hear over everything else.