Page 22 of His Ring Is Not Enough

“Do you have to do that?” she said, her voice choked.

“Do what?”

“Touch me like that?”

“You are my wife. And if I’m not remembering wrongly, you told me yesterday that you wanted me in your bed. Every night. In light of that I should not think my hand on your clothed body would be an issue.”

“I didn’t think we were worrying about our personal relationship until after we got our public one under control.”

“This is our public relationship, agape.”

“Sorry,” she said. “Felt like personal territory.”

“And it disturbs you?” he asked. God knew it disturbed him. This entire change in her physical appearance disturbed him. She wasn’t conforming to the box he’d put her into, and he didn’t like it in the least.

They passed through the double doors that led to the glittering antechamber of the hotel ballroom. The white marble floor was edged in black, the design echoed on the walls. White pillars were stationed throughout, a nod, albeit a highly glossed one, to an ancient Grecian temple.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

“You are prepared to sleep with me and yet personal disturbs you?”

“Will you stop bringing that up?” she hissed. “This is not about our personal lives. This is our public life, right?” She smiled at a passing photographer.

“Unless our personal life starts to affect the public facade, which was the entire point of us leaving it as it is for now.”

“I don’t know, seems like it was never the best idea. I’m not sure our personal life is all that great.”

“I’m not sure we have one.”

He felt her go stiff beneath his touch. “No. I daresay that is what you’d think.” Her words were as stilted as her posture. “After all, I’ve never been to your house. When you practically grew up living in mine.”

“Your father’s.”

“How many Christmas parties have you been to at my penthouse in New York?” she asked.

“A few,” he said.

“Yes, and yet I had never been to your house once until yesterday. So of course you don’t think we have a personal relationship. I guess I’m the one who thought we did. The one who thought we at least had respect between us. I won’t be so stupid again.” She pulled a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter and took a few fortifying sips.

A couple of businessmen stopped them and started talking about the new acquisition of Holt with an enthusiasm that only those in the acquire and assimilate game could convey over that kind of topic.

Normally, Leah would have got in on the conversation. She was interested in business and particularly in Holt. Right now though, all she could really do was nod along while she forced champagne down her throat. A delicate balance. Don’t drink too much, inhibitions might lower. But a certain amount was required to weather something like this.

She knew this game, this game of putting on armor. Playing polished and playing tough. But things were slipping when she was with him. And it sucked. Old feelings were getting stirred up, getting a second life thanks to all of the close proximity. And she didn’t want that.

I want you. In my bed, every night.

Yes, she’d really said that to him.

She kept on smiling. Why was she doing this now? Why was she breaking down now? With him on her arm and people all around them?

She sucked in a breath and held it. She was fine. She would be fine. She’d spent her life proving herself. She hadn’t excelled in school, but she’d been able to shine in business, and shine she had. No, she wasn’t the most beautiful Holt heiress, but she had her own charisma. And she had business savvy. And she’d done whatever was necessary to get herself to the point where the media no longer called her an ugly duckling, but a socialite turned businesswoman.

She hadn’t done those things by being sweet and open and leaving candy on people’s desks. She’d changed. She’d learned to protect herself. And she would keep on doing that.

But she would have him. Because she wanted him. Because there had to be a perk to being trapped in this marriage with him, and if access to his body was the perk? She was more than happy with that.

Yes. She was. Indeed.

It wasn’t about emotions. It wasn’t about the ache in her chest that had shown up the day before the wedding and had insisted on sticking around.

Sex wouldn’t hurt. It would feel good. At least, she imagined it would.

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