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There, in the warm sun, my skin and lingerie drying out above tired muscles, my exhausted body relaxes, and under the dark stare of Nathan, I fall asleep.
CHAPTER 22
I am in my bathroom, towel-drying my hair, when Drew speaks.
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“Mr. Dumont is requesting you.”
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The sudden words startle me, and I turn and glare at him. “Can’t you knock?”
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He says nothing, his hands in his pockets, and I lean forward, returning to my task. Strange, for Nathan to still be home in the middle of the day, and sending Drew for me. He has never requested me for anything but sex. After four days of ignoring me, I break a rule, and a half hour later, he asks for me.
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“Mr. Dumont—”
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“I know. Is requesting me.” I stand, shaking out my hair and tossing the towel toward the basket. “Should I get dressed?”
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His eyes travel over my silk robe, cinched at the waist over nothing but me, the fabric sticking to my skin, still wet from my after-swim shower. “No. I’m sure that will be fine.”
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I nod, passing by him and toward the door, butterflies starting a nervous dance in my belly.
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In the background, the roar of a weed eater begins.
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“You needed me?” I stop in the doorway, watching him turn from the bar, his expression dark.
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He nods to the pool. “What the fuck was that? Are you five years old? Are tantrums going to be your standard communication tool?”
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I flush. He’s right. I should have stepped back inside. Confronted him with my feelings. Or swallowed it all and retained my dignity. I slide the door shut behind me, and without the sounds of the landscapers, the room is too quiet. “You’re right. I’m upset at you. And I should have just spoken to you about it.”
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He steps closer, his jaw flexing, and when he stops before me, I’m reminded of how much of a man he is. His scent. His build, the suit tight to his muscles. His height, towering above my flats. “You’re upset at me?” He laughs, cruel and incredulously, and anger flares in me.
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“Yes,” I grit out. “You’ve given me the cold shoulder since we returned from Napa. You ignore me and look at me with …” I search for an appropriate word. “Disdain.” I finish. “As if I’m—”
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I lose track of my thoughts when he grabs me, his hands tight on my forearms, my robe’s thin silk doing nothing to prevent what will be bruises. I look at him in panic.
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The controlled version of him is gone, his face a mask of barely restrained emotion; his breath is coming in short bursts, his expression dark. He drags me forward, pushes me onto the leather chaise lounge, until I am on my back and he is towering over me, his hands in fists.
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“Nathan, please,” I gasp, moving away from him, my robe open around my legs.
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“You think this is a game?” he hisses. “Our marriage, our agreement?”
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I open my mouth, searching for something to say, not understanding his anger. Is this our marriage? I ask a question, I voice my feelings, and unleash this?
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He leans closer, until his mouth is inches from mine, his breath hot on my skin. “Answer me.”
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I wet my lips. “No,” I whisper.
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“No, what?” he snarls, yanking the sash on my robe, the silk moving easily under his strength.
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“No, it’s not a game.” I keep my face timid, my voice soft, but inside my teeth bare and my claws flex. No, it’s not a game; this is my life, my worth, my sanity. For a man who doesn’t like games, he should throw out the rules and stop keeping score. His eyes are hard on mine and I’ve never seen him this angry—didn’t know he was capable of this level of emotion at all. I should be scared, but a thrill of excitement courses through me at the presence of life in him.
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He reaches forward, gripping the back of my neck and pulling me up, pressing his mouth roughly to mine as he pulls open my robe, baring my body to him. It’s not a kiss. It’s a domination—strong movements of his tongue that torment my mouth. He nips my bottom lip, fucks me with his tongue, then gently kisses my swollen lips, taking one final journey of my mouth before he pulls off.
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I open my eyes, expecting a softer Nathan above me, expecting the change in his kiss to reflect the forgiveness that had occurred. His fists have loosened, those hands now running rampant over my body, my robe fully open, my legs parted with his knee. His face has calmed, the deep lines faded, the set of his mouth relaxed. But his eyes betray him. His eyes show the fierce anger that still burns brightly. I still don’t know why he’s mad, or what I’ve done wrong, but I understand one thing—my punishment just changed. I didn’t want to be ignored, and now that table is being yanked out from beneath me.
