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“I think I wanted, so badly, for it to be a fairy tale, that I blocked myself off from doing any kind of analysis. I chose to believe without reason. I let myself be stupid and I let you use me.”
And she’d been about to do the same with Sam. Sam hadn’t loved her. He’d been going to use her – to marry her simply because of the fortune that would one day be hers.
He expelled a breath of frustration. Max would never be able to change her view of him. He had used her in their first marriage, and it made no difference that his intentions had been good – he’d wanted to save her father from the decisions he’d been poised to make.
And as if reading his mind, she reached across and put a hand on his, her eyes softening, so it felt as though an arrow was spearing through his chest cavity. “I’m grateful you didn’t let dad borrow from a loan shark, Max. Honestly, I thought I’d never be able to forgive you for the farce of our marriage.”
He held his breath without meaning to.
“But I can at least understand why you did it,” she conceded, finally. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but it was more than he could have expected. It was a start.
Chapter Eight
“YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS.”
“Why not?”
Dinner had been surprisingly easy. Once they’d stopped discussing her father, and their first marriage, he’d been able to keep conversation to light enough grounds – mutual acquaintances, travel, topics that were easy and non-controversial. But now, back home, he watched her walk towards her room and something inside of him shifted with frustration.
“You actually want to use separate bedrooms?”
“You were the one who insisted on that, first time around.”
“That was different,” he pointed out, wishing he could latch onto a more concrete way in which to demonstrate that.
“Not to me.” She glared at him, curving a hand over her belly in a way that drew his gaze, causing something to lodge thick in his throat. She was pregnant – he couldn’t fight with her. It couldn’t be good for the baby. But Christo, why was she being so stubborn about this?
“Alessia, we both want this marriage to work.”
“That all depends on how you define a successful marriage.”
“In London –,”
“In London I was hurting and angry,” she said quietly, reminding him of the reason for her hurt. She’d presumably been in love with another man, planning to marry him. She’d been jilted. She’d come to him as a salve to that pain, not because she wanted to marry him all over again.
When he looked at her, he wanted her with an intensity that almost broke him but it was blindingly clear she no longer felt the same. He took a small step backwards and turned away from her, absorbing this reality, wishing he could somehow refute it. But what other explanation was there?
“I can’t do it.” Her voice had his eyes drawing back to her face, and the sadness he saw in the depths of her eyes twisted something in his gut. “I can’t sleep in your bed, make love to you, pretend this is real, because it’s not, and I know I’ll get burned if I forget that. I need to remember. Okay?”
“It is real,” he said with a grunt. “We’re having a baby. We’re married.”
“But we’re not in love,” she murmured. “Don’t you get it? That’s what makes a marriage! Do you really think sexual attraction is enough?”
“I think it’s a great start,” he said, something lifting in his chest. Because she did want him. Desire was something he could work with – and she was wrong. Marriages weren’t always about love. “I think we have everything we need to make each other happy. And a fulfilling sex life is a huge part of that.”
He lifted a hand to her breasts, stroking his fingertips across one of her nipples, then the next. Her eyes shut and she sucked in a shuddering breath. “Tell me you want me to stop.”
She let out a small moan. “I want –,”
He waited, everything inside of him tensed. “You are fighting yourself, not me,” he said firmly. “You wish you didn’t want me. You wish you didn’t crave me. Do you wake up remembering how it felt when we were together?”
She groaned again. “It’s just a biological impulse.” Then, swallowing, “How can I want you?” She shook her head, as though angry with herself, but swayed forward so her hips brushed his.
“So much of me hates you,” she promised darkly, tilting her face to his.
“I know.” And she had every right to. Hell, she didn’t even know that he’d paid off her undeserving fiancé – if she did? He pushed the thought aside. He’d done the right thing. He’d saved Alessia from a gold digging opportunist. He didn’t want to contemplate how she might feel if she knew.
She was wrong. Their chemistry was more than a starting point – it was something that would always bind them. If the last five years had taught him anything it was that.
