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“Oh, now you’re interested! Well, I do not want to talk with you anymore.”
“Turn around.”
“No.”
“Turn around. I want to see your face when I speak to you.”
“Well, I do not want to speak to you.”
Isabel squeaked as Rhys took her by the waist and turned her toward him.
“What did he do?” he growled.
“How are you any better than him, hauling me around like a brute?”
“Well, I married you, so I have the right to haul you around.”
“You arrogant brute!” Isabel pushed him at his chest. He didn’t budge. On the contrary, his arms tightened around her waist.
“Tell me,” he soothed, his voice turning gentle.
Isabel shivered from the pleasant timbre of his voice. There in the dark room, surrounded by the heat of her husband’s body, she felt the response to him deep in her soul. Instead of pushing him away, she wanted to press herself against his reassuring, hard, warm chest and tell him all her troubles.
What was he doing to her?
“I don’t want to tell you,” she lied, her voice curiously breathy.
His arms tightened even more, bringing her body dangerously close to his. “Tell me, or I shall have to hunt him down and ask him myself.”
Isabel rolled her eyes, although deep down, she enjoyed that show of protectiveness.
“He kissed me,” she replied. “But I took care of it.”
“How?”
Isabel smiled slyly, not that he could see. “I kicked him, and he released me.”
A deep laugh shook Rhys’s body, and Isabel felt it like an earthquake. Suddenly, he dipped his head and kissed her lightly on her nose. “Good girl,” he whispered, then released her and turned away.
Isabel blinked, feeling cold and lonely without her husband’s arms around her.
What a cad her husband was! He showed her how nice it could be to be held in his arms and then took it away from her in a matter of seconds.
* * *
Rhys was jolted awake in the middle of the night. What had woken him up?
He was used to getting up with the first light of dawn, but as his gaze traveled to the window, there was not a line of light in sight. Even the moon was hiding behind the clouds.
He shivered in the cool night air, wondering why he was not covered with sheets. He turned and immediately bumped into something—or rather someone.
His mind took a moment to process what was going on before he remembered that he was not in his own bed. He was sleeping with his wife, in her room, in her bed.
He cocked his head and squinted his eyes, trying to understand what body part he’d bumped into. As his eyes finally adjusted to the dimly lit room, he almost laughed out loud. He clamped his lips shut and shook his head.
Half of the enormous four-poster bed was completely empty while Isabel, his lovely wife, lay curled up beside him. What was even more amusing was the fact that she hogged the bedsheets, bunching them up between her legs and hugging them close to her. As a result, most of her body was uncovered, and there was not enough sheet left to warm Rhys.
Was this happening every night Rhys slept with her? No wonder he woke up most mornings feeling cold and weary.
