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He smirked. “It’s the cover. I don’t make the decisions.”
I sighed. “Is there more to our story? Do we need to come up with how we met? How you proposed? Where did we get married? What if someone asks questions? What if I screw it up and blather on about our honeymoon in Venice and you say we went to the Poconos?”
He laughed. “First, I would never take you to the Poconos for our honeymoon. Second, it’s not going to be like that. We won’t interact together with the mark. I won’t bring you in any further. I need a wife for my cover. And I want that wife to be you.”
I swallowed. “Does that mean there would have been a backup wife if I didn’t go along with this?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re in.”
I stared at him. “Tell me. I want to know. If I didn’t agree to wear the rings, would you have had to go undercover with a different woman?”
“Em.”
My eyes hardened. “I deserve to know.”
“Not exactly.” He rose from the bed and pulled the drapes back. The sunlight streamed in the room.
“Then what exactly? How does it work? Would you have lost the job?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and faced me. “You’re the reason we’re in Paris. I received this mark because you’re considered an asset. For now.”
“For now?” The coffee mug rattle to the saucer when I tried to set it down.
“I told you I would take care of everything. I also promised you no more women. So no. There wouldn’t have been a fill-in wife. I promised them we could both handle Paris. And we can. I know you can’t help but ask questions, but you have to trust me. The less you know, the better it is. The safer it is.”
“But I need to know why you aren’t safe,” I pressed. “What makes this job dangerous? How is it different from what you did in DC?”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “You aren’t going to quit, are you?”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s a lot to take in. The separate identity. I can help you. Why don’t you give me something to do? Research maybe? I’m an excellent case researcher. I can run profiles or something. I know international case law. Maybe I can find a legal way for you to obtain information. Something that you haven’t thought of.”
“Fuck no. You aren’t going near Blackwing’s database or near the files. You have to stay out of it.”
“Vaughn,” I groaned.
“If you want to help me, get dressed so we can buy an apartment. Today we become Parisians. Very respectable, married Parisians. That’s what I need from you. I’ve asked you to trust me, but can I trust you to do this? If not, I can meet the realtor without you, babe.”
I pushed off the lavish bed and strolled toward him. The silk robe fell open as I pressed my naked body against him. “Yes. You can trust me.” My hands roamed his chest. “You want me to stay home and bake and be a good little wife?” My hand slid between his pajama pants and his stomach until it curled around his widening cock.
He inhaled sharply. “I didn’t say that.” He gripped the back of my hair, jerking my head to the side.
I bit my lip. “So I should be a bad little wife?” I fisted his shaft up and down, while I worked the pants over his hips, letting them drop to the floor.
“That sounds better. Very bad,” he growled, kissing my throat, gathering the silk in his hand as his lips moved to my shoulder. “I could go for a naughty dirty wife.”
I took steps backward until the back of my legs hit the bed. My eyes lit with desire. My thighs hooked around his waist. My heels dug into his skin, drawing him toward me.
Vaughn leaned forward. His palms flattened on either side of me.
My eyes closed when he pressed his cock to my swollen entrance. I was still sore from rough sex last night. But I wanted him.
“I’ll cook dinner every night,” I promised.
He hovered over me. “If?”
I smiled wickedly. “If you promise to fuck me like last night.”
He sliced into me and I cried out from the blinding fullness. The white-hot pain of how thick and hard he was.
