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Donnacha cocks his head, brows knitting above his darkening eyes. “Abe just brought me the marriage papers with your signature all over them. I signed them too, and now they are already on their way to the courthouse. Express delivery,” he adds with a wink. “What did you think you just signed? A recording contract?”
“N-No, but I—”
He tuts, cutting me off. “You should always read what you sign, darling.” He stoops lower, a black wave falling over his forehead. “You can read, right?”
White-hot heat blisters my skin. “That should have been made more clear,” I snap, digging my nails into my palms. “That goddamn lawyer didn’t warn me I was signing my life away. I thought there’d at least be a ceremony. Or a fucking ring. My best friend doesn’t even know I’m—”
He’s scarily quick, wrapping a strong hand around my forearm and dragging me into the nearest bedroom like I’m weightless. The slam of the door behind us makes me flinch.
In here, I can’t hear the low chatter that fills the other room. In here, there’s no escape from the excruciating silence that dances between the Devil and me.
Fuck, he’s scary. I want to crawl into the corner and curl up like an injured spider waiting to die.
But I made a promise to myself. This monster won’t even come close to breaking me again.
So I press my back against the door and force myself to meet the fiery blaze in his eyes. Now, I truly understand his parting words to me about not taking his laughter or smile for weakness. The lines etched around his eyes paint a story of laughter, but I have no doubt they have been deepened by pure, unadulterated rage.
“I don’t care whether you’re my husband or my enemy or both,” I say simply. “If you grab me like that again, I’ll kick your balls into your stomach.”
He doesn’t show any sign that he’s heard me. Instead, he closes the gap between us, wrapping his hand around the nape of my neck and pulling me forward until our foreheads are touching. I can’t help the way I briefly close my eyes, breathing in that now-familiar scent of leather and expensive spice. But I push the flutters deep down into the depths of my stomach and hold his gaze.
“I’m going to tell you this once, wifey,” he says, the words oozing from his soft lips like syrup. Intrusive thoughts, like if those lips would feel as good against my own as they did on my clit, penetrate my skull. They are almost impossible to push away. “And I’ll need you to tell me that you understand.”
He waits. Eventually, I nod.
He breathes out through his nostrils and speaks slowly. “This is not the start of a love story. There will be no happily ever afters. No riding off into the sunset. I am not the Richard Gere to your Julia Roberts. In fact, within the walls of this building, I will be anything but your Prince Charming.” The hand on the nape of my neck snakes upward, winding itself into the base of my ponytail. I grit my teeth as a million nerve endings scream across my scalp. “Quite the opposite, sweetheart. You made this mess for my family, and I have to clean it up. Marrying me is not your punishment. But believe me, your punishment will come.”
His tone drips with the venom that would make a grown man piss himself. So why do I feel a different type of wetness between my thighs? The lust building up in my throat is almost impossible to swallow. But I take a deep breath, mentally scolding my fucked-up brain, and turn my attention back to my husband.
“What are you going to do to me?”
I know, whether I like it or not, I’m not asking that out of self-preservation. To assess whether this is a fight-or-flight situation. The question comes from the wrong organ.
His chuckle, muddy with sinful thoughts, grazes my nose. “My beautiful wife, I will break you.”
A sick sense of glee bubbles through me. My chance to show him he’s messing with the wrong bitch.
“I can’t wait to see you try,” I say huskily. “I’m impossible to break.”
He pauses. Stops breathing hot, delicious air against my nose. I can’t read the expression that lights up his eyes, but it makes me feel uneasy. He pushes himself closer to me, pinning my body between the door and the bulge in his pants. Oh, god. I can feel every inch of his excitement.
“And why’s that?” he whispers.
The truth? I’d never give him the truth. Instead, I jerk my chin up and harden my jaw.
“Because I’d rather die than break for you.”
His chest rises and falls, the soft fabric of his T-shirt grazing against my nipples. But to my surprise, he takes a step back and clamps down on his bottom lip. I watch as he drinks me in, then closes his eyes and tilts his head to the ceiling. He mutters something inaudible under his breath, then sucks in a lungful of air. When he looks at me again, his glare is hot enough to start a fire in the Arctic.
“You silly girl,” he murmurs, sounding like he’s at war with each syllable. “You have no idea how much I love a challenge.”
He charges toward me with such speed that I leap out of the way. He grabs the door handle and storms back into the corridor. I step into it too, locking eyes with the sour-faced man from the elevator. “This is Ronan,” Donnacha growls, jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward him as he passes. “Your guard. Make yourself at home because you won’t be able to leave for a while.”
“I-I’m sorry?” Did I just hear that right?
He turns on his black sneakers, throwing me a look of disdain. “What, did you really think my wife was going to be allowed to roam free?” He jerks his chin to Ronan, who’s staring intently at a speck on the white wall. “Ro, educate this silly girl in my absence.” He picks up a pair of Ray-Bans from the table by the elevator and slips them on. He stabs at the button and waits, hands crossed in front of his crotch.
“Wait,” I say, just as the doors slide open. I go to follow him, but this dumbass Ronan blocks my way. I duck under the crook of his arm just in time to see Donnacha slip into the elevator. “Where are you going?”
I can only hear his voice.
“Don’t be clingy, sweetheart. It’s not a trait I like in a wife.”
