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I glanced over at my husband, admiring the bold lines of his ruggedly handsome face as the light danced over his cheekbones. Something in the center of my chest tugged toward him.
“I’ve seen him looking at you,” she said, her voice low and serious. “He looks at you the way Raúl looks at me.”
My attention jerked back to her. The man she loved was terrifying in his intensity. He was utterly obsessed with her.
My stomach flipped. “Sebastián is just intense in general,” I said, trying to dismiss her implication. “Trust me, he doesn’t feel…that way about me.”
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“He won’t…” My cheeks flamed. “He doesn’t want me to kiss him. He doesn’t want me.” Something burned in my chest as I made the admission. How many times had I forced down the urge to offer myself to him? It was beyond embarrassing that I desired my husband, and he didn’t want me back.
Marisol shook her head, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. “He wouldn’t be looking at you like that if he didn’t want you. Maybe he’s trying to be respectful of your boundaries. He might not want you to think he’s forcing himself on you. Raúl assured me that he wouldn’t abuse you. If he’s a good man, that must be why he hasn’t made his move.”
There was too much to unpack in that statement. Sebastián wasn’t a good man; he was a criminal. And he’d bulldozed through my boundaries when he’d stripped off my jeans and spanked me for the first time. He hadn’t respected my wishes when he’d belted me, when he’d forced the most intense orgasms from my untried body.
“I don’t think that’s what’s going on,” I said, my voice a little too high-pitched. Shame, rejection, and an echo of arousal mingled together, making my face hot and my throat tight.
Marisol leaned toward me, studying my expression as though trying to puzzle out my meaning. “Are you unhappy with him?”
“No!” The refusal burst from my lips. Sebastián didn’t make me unhappy. “He’s kind to me. I know he cares about me, and I…” I swallowed my vulnerability and gave voice to my secret. “I care about him. I’m attracted to him. But he won’t let me touch him. We’ve…been together a few times.” I stumbled over the admission, not used to discussing my nonexistent sex life. “But he always pulls away from me. He’s barely had any physical contact with me in weeks. Sometimes, I think he wants to, but he holds himself back. I don’t understand him.”
Her brows rose. “Have you asked him why?”
She made it sound so obvious, but it wasn’t that simple. Sebastián didn’t talk about his feelings. He was a hard man, even if he had shown me glimpses at his vulnerabilities. It was enough for me that he’d opened up to me at all. I didn’t want to ruin our companionship by prying into his personal matters.
“He would talk to me about it if he wanted to,” I asserted. “He would touch me if he wanted to.”
“But he’s attracted to you,” she countered. “I can tell.”
My heart squeezed. I knew that he desired me on a primal level, but he was choosing to deny our chemistry.
“Not enough,” I murmured, dejected. No man had ever looked at me with lust in his eyes; I wasn’t beautiful enough to be seductive. Men had always tried to woo me for my fortune, not my looks. And while Sebastián was obviously aroused by our few erotic encounters, I must not be enough for him.
Marisol’s soft features firmed again, her chin lifting with determination. She hopped down off her barstool and held out her hand to me. “Come on. Our men are dancing with us. Right now.”
I eyed the men dubiously. They were all staring at us now that Marisol had moved a few inches. They really were intense.
“I don’t think Sebastián likes to dance,” I speculated, unable to imagine my taciturn husband on the dance floor.
Marisol giggled and tugged on my hand, urging me to join her. “Raúl definitely won’t like it. But he’ll do it for me. I’ll persuade him to enjoy it.” She shot him a heated glance.
I hesitated, and she fixed me with a firm frown.
“No more excuses,” she declared. “You’re married to Sebastián, and he clearly wants you. You want him too. There’s no reason for you not to be happy in your marriage.”
I released a shaky laugh and stood, joining her despite the butterflies in my belly. “I don’t think he’ll be happy when I ask him to dance.”
She eyed me up and down, taking in my glittering, short black dress that hugged my modest curves. “Trust me, he’ll be happy. Raúl likes to act grumpy too. But don’t tell him I said that,” she amended quickly, her lips taking on a fond tilt. “He’s a hard man, but he’s mine.”
