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Xavier wanted to stop the world, stop the clock, stop everything.
His eyes ran over his bride’s face and his whole body felt like it was ripping itself apart. And because he’d threatened to take their son away unless she fulfilled this promise to him. Unless she played the part of his wife – even in bed.
His eyes flickered shut, his dark lashes thick on his cheeks, as he recalled in vivid detail that conversation. He’d been so furious! He’d been robbed of so much and to discover that included a son?
He had wanted to push the continents off the edge of the earth; he’d been irate.
I will take him and I will keep him until your debt is repaid.
His eyes roamed her face once more. Her debt had been more than repaid; so what kind of Shylock was he, now, insisting upon his pound of flesh? Because for days he’d known this wedding was every kind of wrong, that he had moved into the realm of pure self-interest, and yet he’d gone ahead with it regardless.
And it wasn’t about punishing her.
It wasn’t even about claiming his son.
He wanted her.
He wanted Elizabeth Jones to be his wife – and it went beyond the sexual heat that burned between them. This was a primal ache that pushed out of his gut and through his whole body. With all of himself, he needed her to be in his life.
Even if it destroyed her?
He stared at her with a sinking feeling, because it was clear that this marriage he wanted so badly was the worst thing he could do to Elizabeth. A muscle throbbed low in his jaw as he ground his teeth together.
And right when he thought about turning to the Cardinal and calling the damned thing off, she took his hand and lifted it, just so she could slide a ring onto his finger. The touch was electric and it burst his heart back into a normal rhythm. Her eyes met his, and there was such defiance in them, such a look of cold determination, a challenge that stirred something inside of him, and he knew he couldn’t do the honourable thing and let her go.
If only he was that man! If only he wanted her less…
He returned the gesture, sliding a ring onto her finger, but as soon as it was in place, she pulled her hand free, as though he’d burned her with his touch.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the Cardinal said with a benevolent smile.
Xavier’s gaze locked to hers and fire flared between them, but fire and flame were easy to surrender to. They’d done that again and again, giving agency and rational thought over to sensual needs. Instead of claiming her passionately, he curled a hand around her neck, his fingers soft on her exposed flesh and gently, as though she were made of glass, he drew her nearer, and when her lips parted, he buzzed his against them, so gentle and soft.
It was nothing. A kiss to seal the deal, rather than a promise of what lay ahead. How could he make a promise when he himself had no idea?
She pulled away, her eyes glancing to his with uncertainty in their depths, but it was for the briefest of moments, before falling away again.
“What next?” She asked, the words croaky.
Xavier’s chest heaved, because it was done, they were married, and she was asking what else he expected of her. Because she was willingly going through whichever hoop he presented in order to be able to stay in their son’s life.
His smile was sardonic, but all his mockery was self-directed. “We pretend we’re jubilantly happy and head off on our honeymoon,” he muttered, the frustration all directed at his own foolish plan – his idiot belief that marriage could be a simple act of offer and acceptance.
“No reception?”
“When we get back,” he said, trying not to think that far ahead. There was so much that gulfed between now and then.
“Fine.” And then, with a frown, as though his words had been on a delay for her: “What honeymoon?”
“Mummy so pretty.” Joshua came towards them at that moment, and Elizabeth turned away from Xavier with obvious relief, lifting their son onto her hip
Xavier’s heart squeezed in his chest for an entirely different reason now. His wife and his son. A primal sense of possession tore through him at the sight.
His family.
This was why they’d married. This was why he’d insisted on this – because they belonged together. Not just him and Elizabeth. All three of them.
They walked side by side down the aisle of the church, but he didn’t touch her. Oh, he wanted to, but he knew with every fibre of his being that his touch would be unwelcome. She was as stiff as a board, her tension palpable. And he needed to find other ways to ease that tension.
