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She said nothing.
“This conversation won’t end until you talk to me. We can have it here or after we get back to the mansion.”
She glared at him. “You’re telling me you’re going to force me back to the mansion? I don’t have a choice?”
“You have plenty of choices, but right now you’re my wife. And you will live at the mansion where I can protect you.”
“That doesn’t sound like a choice to me!”
“You’re seeing it wrong.”
She curled her fingers into her palms because they itched to smack his face.
“While we’re on the subject you can also tell me why you pretended you were open to having my baby and then took birth control pills.”
Shakarri stared out the window. “You weren’t all that interested in the whys at home when you threw a tantrum and stormed out. All you cared about was that you weren’t getting your way.”
He marched back to the side of the bed and leaned over it, bringing his face close to hers. She shrank against the pillows, trying to keep enough space between them. His jaw worked, and a vein in his forehead popped out. One thing she’d noticed about Italians was that they were a fiery bunch. People said black women were angry. They must have missed the hot blood of Italian men.
“Let’s get something straight,” he growled. “I married you for your body.” His hand raked her form and rested on her hip. When his thumb pressed lightly into her pelvis, a shock of desire flowed straight to her core. “This—all of this—is mine, and I intend to get what I paid for.”
She gasped, and her hand shot out before she could think about the consequences. The crack echoed around the room, and red stained his cheek. His eyes slitted.
“That’s the second time you’ve hit me.”
Her throat dried. She shrank further into the pillows, and then he stilled. He studied her face for a few silent moments and straightened.
“Is that why you ran, Shakarri?” He cast his voice l
ow and deep. She almost missed the words. “Did you think I would hit you?”
Don’t admit anything.
“You were pretty ticked off.”
“Have I ever raised my hand to you?” He still spoke quietly, and she began to think she’d insulted him by not denying the thought had run through her mind.
“No, but—”
“You don’t have a history of abuse,” he said, “so there’s no excuse to jump to that conclusion.”
“You would know.”
“So you’re protesting against the thorough research I did before we married?”
She didn’t answer.
“Shakarri.”
“Okay, look, I assumed you’d want a divorce, and I was getting out before you could throw me out without a nickel to my name. I’ve always taken care of myself, and I’m haven’t forgotten how to do it since I took on your name.”
“We won’t be getting a divorce. Period.”
“Not until you’ve gotten what you want. Is that it? I get pregnant and give you an heir. Then I’m out?”
“Tell me why you think that’s the case.”
She wouldn’t betray Paxe. “I…heard you forced Cat’s—Catarina’s—mom to give her to you.”
