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She hesitates briefly, though I can't decipher her expression. "I can deal with meeting your family. And I promise not to embarrass you if that's what you're worried about. Your family will meet a well-behaved American."
"Not worried about you." I roll my shoulders back. "You can handle yourself. My family… They don't understand what I've done."
"Do you regret marrying me? This wasn't exactly a well-thought-out decision. You were lusting after me, and you got this crazy marriage idea in your head. I'd understand if you have buyer's remorse."
"I haven't bought you."
"You kinda did. Half a million dollars after a year, remember?"
Mhac na galla.I grind my teeth, because I don't like hearing her remind me of our arrangement. "I haven't bought you. All of my ex-wives received generous settlements when we divorced."
But I am paying for Emery, in a way. She isn't marrying me for love. I've offered her a large sum to put up with me for one year.
"My family can be overly protective," I tell her, "particularly my brother Lachlan. He almost frightened away the woman Aidan married. He terrified my first two wives, and the third kept her distance from him."
A smile tugs at her lips but doesn't quite form. "Are you afraid your big brother will have me fleeing in terror? Your concern is adorable but unnecessary. I'm not that easy to get rid of, baby."
"Why do you keep calling me that?"
"What?"
"Baby."
"Don't know. Didn't realize I was doing it." She bumps her shoulder into mine. "Guess it means I like you. Which is a good thing since we'll be living together."
She likes me? That's the last thing I want.
I launch my body off the bed. "You'll change your mind about that soon enough."
Before she can tell me anything else I don't want to hear, I stalk out of the bedroom and into the living area, where she can't see me and I can't see or hear her.
Ten minutes later, Emery walks into the living area.
I'm seated on the sofa with my computer on my lap, typing away as if I'm working, though I'm only pretending. I clap the laptop shut. "Ready?"
"Yep." She watches me get up off the sofa while holding the laptop in one hand. "We don't know each other very well, so I need to ask you something. Are you a pervert who's into BDSM—bondage, sadism, that kind of thing?"
"No."
"It's not a ridiculous thing to ask. You told me I'd change my mind about liking you, and I couldn't help wondering if that means you've got a tawdry secret at home. Maybe you'll lock me in your sex dungeon."
I roll my eyes. "I may live in a castle, but I don't have a dungeon."
"So, you're not into the twisted shit."
"I am not." Do I seem like the bondage sort? I ponder that question while I stow the laptop in its carrying bag. "Time to leave."
Grabbing her suitcase, I wheel it toward the door where my bag waits. Then I swing the door open for her. She's still watching me, but with a dubious expression now.
"You live in a castle?" she asks.
"I do."
With a hand on her back, I urge her to walk out the door.
For the entire journey to the airport, and while we walk out onto the tarmac, I keep thinking about her BDSM question. Maybe my rules and my rigidity have convinced her that I must need an extreme sort of release. But I do not have a sex dungeon.
As we approach the jet, Emery stumbles to a halt.
