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I curse myself for reacting to him and accuse, "What are you doing here?"
He cockily states, "I'm in charge of your security."
"But why areyouhere?" I question again.
Why did I ever think that he would stay away if he's in charge of my security?
Of course he's not going to let other people manage things.
He reaches for me, and I automatically take his hand. I hate that about myself. I obey him like a puppet, but my body doesn't want to fight him. He helps me out of the car and answers, "Because I'm in charge."
I declare, "You can't come to every gig. You have a business to run. You should trust the guys you hire."
He grunts. "I trust no one with you, and you should realize this by now. And don't worry about my work. I have everything under control."
"Of course you do. You're a control freak," I mumble.
He leans close to my ear. "The last time I checked, you appreciated the fact I was one. Especially when you're kneeling, waiting for my commands. And my bet is that you're missing it as much as I am."
I ignore the butterflies in my stomach. I can't deny the craving I have to fully submit to him. But I'm not telling him that, so I snap, "Don't make me regret allowing you to oversee this."
He slides his hand around my waist, and I want to sink into his body. I try not to, which only makes it awkward. He tugs me closer, and I give in, melting against him. He questions, "Why would you regret it? I'm doing my job."
I mutter, "No, you're inserting yourself into my life." I glance up at him.
Hurt fills his expression. He sniffs hard, pinning his gaze on mine, making me feel bad for my words. Then he insists, "I'm doing my job, pet."
"Are you?" I challenge.
Tense silence fills the cold air that whips between us. My eyes water from it.
He tugs my hair, then leans in so his mouth is an inch from my lips, pinning his blues on mine. I inhale sharply, squeezing my legs together. His eyes turn darker, and he claims, "I won't lie, pet. While it's true I'm doing my job, I'm not unhappy I get to spend time with you." He grasps my ass and presses me against him.
My insides turn to hot lava. His erection grows, and the reminder of what it's like to be his intensifies. My lips quiver, and everything seems to disappear.
Another cold burst of wind whips at my face. He pecks me on the lips and asserts, "We have to go so you aren't late. But we're celebrating tonight after your concert, pet."
I inhale sharply and start to shake my head, but he tightens his palm on the back of my head so I can't move. Everything inside me lights up, and I feel alive for the first time in days. I curse myself for not knowing how to eliminate my desire for him, especially when he touches me.
His lips twitch, and his eyes erupt in blue flames. His voice lowers. "If I have to remind you why you took a vow to be my wife, then I will."
I'm unsure if I should take his words as a threat or a gift, but a shiver runs down my spine.
He sees the effect he has on me, smirks, then spins, guiding me toward the plane.
I don't have any more energy to fight. I've been fighting my whole life with my parents and now Riggs. So I don't respond, climb the steps, then enter the plane.
The flight attendant, Chrissy, appears, beaming. "Hello, Mrs. Madden. Congratulations on your song hitting number one! I'm so happy for you. Can I get you something to drink?"
The sound of my married name makes my heart soar and hurt simultaneously. I want to resume the life Riggs and I had more than anything, yet I can't seem to get past his betrayal. I swallow the lump in my throat, force a smile, and reply, "Thank you. I'm okay right now." I walk past her and then freeze.
Noah rises from his seat. He motions to the spot next to him, ordering, "Sit, Blakely."
"My wife's sitting with me," Riggs's deep voice booms behind me.
I cringe.
Noah claims, "We have work to do."
