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She glared at him, angry that he shouldstillbe looking at her like that, making her heart beat faster and her palms damp where they clutched her bouquet. Angry at the electricity building in the space between them, a snapping, crackling energy that felt like it was bigger than the church they were standing in.
She came to a stop in front of the altar and stared straight into his eyes, more gold now than anything else. There were a million sharp words sitting inside her and she wanted to let them all fly. But to do so would be to let him know he’d hurt her and she didn’t want to do that.
So she said nothing, merely stood there giving him what she hoped was a cool look.
The flames in his eyes leapt higher.
‘Why weren’t you wearing my ring?’ he demanded.
It was a stupid thing to say and Castor knew it the second the words were out of his mouth. It betrayed too much. Yet anger was the only emotion that made any sense in that moment.
Anger that the instant she’d appeared in the doorway of the church, the posy he’d had put together clutched in one small hand, her lush, gorgeous figure wrapped in the simple gown of white silk he’d arranged for her to wear, everything he’d told himself about control and denial had gone straight out the window.
As he’d ordered, her glorious hair was loose in an exquisite cloud of curls, prettier than any veil. The flowers and deep green, glossy leaves of the wreath in her hair was the most perfect touch.
She looked young and innocent and heartbreakingly beautiful. Persephone, Goddess of Spring.
Which makes you Hades, dragging her down into the Underworld.
No. He wasn’t dragging her anywhere.
He’d been careful to keep away from her the past day, busying himself with organising the details of the wedding and liaising with his PR people to make sure the news being disseminated to the press was exactly what he wanted. Enough of the appearance of reality to make everyone think it really was as real as it looked.
He’d also got in touch with certain contacts as to how the news of his engagement and impending wedding was being received by the leaders of the trafficking ring he was trying to infiltrate. Which was favourably, according to the reports he got back.
He’d hoped that a day would have given him some distance, that his desire for her would become less intense or his control over himself stronger. He had Nico keeping an eye on her, and everything had seemed fine. Then just before he’d walked into the chapel, Nico had mentioned noticing that she hadn’t been wearing his engagement ring. And Castor had found himself consumed by the most ridiculous rage.
He couldn’t understand why. She wasn’t his actual fiancée, and whether she wore the ring or not didn’t matter all that much. He’d needed her to wear it for pictures, but that could happen after they were married. It didn’t have to be before.
Yet he was still angry.
And it seemed he wasn’t the only one, because now she was close he could see fire glowing deep in her dark eyes, and her chin had lifted in a very determined way.
‘I wasn’t wearing your ring, because I didn’t want to,’ she said shortly.
Electricity pulsed through him in a hard jolt, the predator in him responding to her challenge.
This is not the time or the place for this argument.
No, and especially not when he was so on edge. Yet he couldn’t stop himself. ‘You agreed to be my loving fiancée.’ He didn’t bother to temper his tone. ‘And that includes wearing my engagement ring.’
Glory’s chin came up higher. ‘I might have worn it if that loving fiancé had bothered to talk to me yesterday, but since he didn’t, I decided not to wear his stupid ring.’
Ah, so she hadn’t liked the distance he’d tried to put between them.
That shouldn’t matter.
It shouldn’t. But it did.
Her sharp-featured lovely face was flushed, the gold outlining her eyes making them seem ever darker, the anger glowing in them like tiny fires. And another jolt of electricity hit him hard, his anger twisting, the desire in him deepening.
A mistake to give in to this feeling. A mistake to let himself be at the mercy of it. Yet all he could think of was that it had been far too long since a woman had looked at him with anything but either fear or calculated lust, and Glory’s honest anger thrilled him in a way it probably shouldn’t have.
He didn’t look away from her, holding her gaze with his. ‘Give me your hand,’ he ordered, reaching into his pocket for the box that contained the engagement ring.
For a second he thought she might disobey, and he half found himself wanting her to purely so he could have the excuse to do something, though what he’d do he wasn’t sure. But she only pulled a face and extended her hand.
The priest was looking at them both with some disapproval, but Castor ignored him. He pulled out the ring box and opened it, took the engagement ring from it, discarded the box, then slid the ring onto her finger.
