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I arched against him with a soft grunt.
Zeno whirled me around and dipped me low in tandem with the violin playing in the ballroom next to us. The melody was magnified in this private, fervid nook of ours.
My dark strands almost kissed the floor.
Our gazes collided.
Zeno trickled the gun down the bodice of my gown sensually, purposefully, until the barrel rested above my mound. “Is your female intuition telling you that your husband is dying to get inside of you,mon trésor?”
“No,” I hissed with a sugary smile. “But your erection poking against my leg is speaking volumes.”
He chuckled darkly, straightened, and spun me out by the waist like we were partners in the middle of a dance and not an interrogation. My dress flared around my hips. Zeno caught my hand and dragged me back to him in an amalgamation of gasps and slamming heartbeats, sweeping me into a waltz with my very own devil.
My husband’s hand pressed to my lower back, drawing me impossibly closer to his heat as we danced in perfect unison.
“I was in your room because your feet were cold.”
I distinctly remembered him putting socks on my feet. A tender moment I’d never forget even when I was gray and old.
He spun me again.
I twirled for him like a doll in a music box—like a dutiful puppet—before falling back into his arms.
“Liar,” I whispered in his ear just as I rammed my stiletto into his right foot.
He growled.
I retrieved the gun from Zeno and backed him into the wall. He let me, gripping my hips, as I dug the barrel into his breast pocket, over his beating heart. “Last chance, Zed. I want to know all your secrets too.”
I repeated the same words he echoed to me in my room eons ago.
He inhaled sharply.
With the possibility of death looming at his doorstep, he chose to kiss me one last time, collecting my lipstick stain like a prized possession. Red, the colour of lust and passion, smeared over him. “I missed you, Darla, and I wanted to see you after a long day.”
I fell back a step.
He reeled me in again with a hand on my throat.
“There’s my other truth. I think about you relentlessly. I feel insane with want and I’ve only fucked you once. You have no idea what kind of beast you’ve awoken inside me. I’m insatiable.” His voice cracked like a harsh whip over my delicate skin. “And it’s all your fault, Darla.”
Zeno released me.
I stumbled away, the phantom of his touch holding me hostage.
My husband cracked his knuckles and adjusted his cufflinks, but it was too late. I’d already seen the chaos brimming underneath his thinly composed mask.
“Don’t lock your door tonight if you want more of my bruises on your body,mon ange.” He walked past me but paused briefly to touch the new love bite on my neck.
In a state of daydream, I left the alcove and entered the west wing, lit with moonlight and my champagne problems.
Once inside my room, I locked the door with no conviction and placed my forehead against the wood.
I was wrong to think I could maintain indifference throughout this marriage.
My heart was already thawing.
Memories of Zeno played like a film in my mind. His dominance at Chaleur. His compliance in MacGregor’s alleyway. His jealousy on our wedding night. His gentleness at the family dinner. And his longing when he gifted me the conservatory room, holding his breath because he wanted me, above all, to love it.
