Page 59

"I'm fine," I say, forcing a smile. "I just need to sleep."

He nods, then leans down and kisses me gently. "I love you, Oksana. So much."

I bite my lip. I haven't said that I love him. He hasn't pushed for it, and as true as it is, I don't want to say it now, when it would mean so much. Even if it isn't a lie, everything else is, and I don't know what would be crueler—to betray him when he knows I love him or to betray him and let him think I never did.

I can't decide that tonight.

He changes into a t-shirt and boxers, then climbs into bed beside me, pulling me against his chest. He carefully keeps his body angled away from me so that his erection isn't pressed against me, although I can see in the shape of the blankets that he's still hard. I can feel the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my cheek, the warmth of his body surrounding me, and I close my eyes, willing myself to fall asleep.

But sleep doesn't come. I lie there for a long time, listening to Cormac's breathing even out, feeling the weight of his arm across my waist. The suite is quiet, the only sound the faint hum of traffic far below, and my mind won't stop racing. One month. I have a month to find something before Reyes loses patience. A month before everything falls apart.

I must drift off eventually, and around three in the morning, I'm woken partially when I feel Cormac shift beside me. He carefully extracts his arm from around my waist, moving slowly so as not to wake me, and then he slides out of bed. I keep my eyes closed, my breathing steady, pretending to be asleep.

I hear his footsteps cross the room, and then the bathroom door opens and closes with a quiet click. For a moment, I just lie there, staring at the dark ceiling, thinking he's gotten up to pee or something. And then I hear, a moment later, a low, rough groan, muffled as if he's trying to stay quiet.

My pulse spikes. I bite my lip, trying to ignore the spark of arousal in my belly at the thought of what I know he's doing. He couldn't sleep, clearly. We didn't have a wedding night, and now he's in the bathroom in our honeymoon suite, easing that need himself. Alone.

Guilt and desire and a strange, wicked curiosity tangle up in my stomach. I slip out of bed, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet, and cross the suite to the bathroom door. I press my ear against the wood, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it.

Another groan, deeper this time, followed by a ragged exhale.

My hand moves to the doorknob before I can think better of it. I turn it slowly, carefully, and push the door open just a crack.

The bathroom is dimly lit, the soft glow of the vanity lights casting shadows across the marble. Cormac is standing at the sink, his back to me, one hand braced against the counter, the other wrapped around his cock.

He's stroking himself slowly, his head bowed, his shoulders tense, his breath coming in harsh, uneven pants. I can see the muscles in his back flexing beneath his t-shirt, the way his hips rock slightly into his fist, and the sight sends a jolt of heat straight through me.

I push the door open wider.

He doesn't hear me. He's too lost in it, his hand moving faster now, his grip tight, his thumb swiping over the head of his cock with each stroke. He groans again, low and desperate, and I see his free hand tighten on the edge of the sink, his knuckles going white.

I stand there in the doorway, frozen, my breath caught in my throat, watching my husband take care of himself because I couldn't. And then, as if he can feel my eyes on him, Cormac's head snaps up.

Our eyes meet in the mirror.

15

CORMAC

Icouldn't sleep. That's how I ended up in the bathroom of our honeymoon suite at three in the morning with my cock in my hand like a desperate teenager who can't control himself.

I tried. Christ, I tried. I lay there beside Oksana, listening to her breathe, feeling the warmth of her body next to mine, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted her. How much I needed to touch her, to bury myself inside her, to hear her moan my name the way she does when I make her come. I had so many plans for how perfect I'd make our wedding night for her.

But she'd said she felt ill and tired. And I'd seen the exhaustion in her face. So I'd tucked her into bed, kissed her forehead, and told myself I could wait.

Except I can't.

My body won't let me. Every time I close my eyes, I see her walking down the aisle toward me in that silk dress, the fabric clinging to every curve, her blonde hair pinned up to expose the elegant line of her neck. I hear her voice, repeating vows that I never thought I would hear said to me in a church, by a woman willing to spend her life with me.

I, Oksana, take you, Cormac, to be my lawfully wedded husband.

She's my wife now. My wife. The word still feels impossible, like something I don't deserve, like a gift I'm going to wake up and find was never real.

But she is real. She's lying in the bed on the other side of this door, wearing lingerie under the robe she wrapped herself up in before sliding into bed, her body soft and warm. And she's mine.

And I'm so fucking hard it hurts.

I didn't want to disturb her. So I slipped out of bed as carefully as I could, went into the bathroom, closed the door, and told myself I'd just take the edge off, to let me sleep. Just enough to stop the ache.