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Only when she looked into his devilish eyes did she realize he’d been bluffing when he’d said he’d walk away.
“Yes, to anything? Without demanding explanations?”
“Yes,” he said, studying her.
“You’re so confident that you can seduce any kind of common sense out of me, aren’t you?” she said, half smiling, half in awe.
“Maybe.” And then he was dragging her into his arms, and his mouth was at her neck and Mira thought she could die right now and it would be a happy death. Another breath-stealing kiss. Another climb to the edge. Another thorough ravishment of her in which this time, his clever fingers joined in.
“Truth or dare, Aristos,” she whispered against his chest, her legs jelly under her. The man was using her like his personal wind-up toy, bringing her to the edge and then talking her down.
“Truth,” he said, laughing against her mouth.
“Would you have let me walk away if I hadn’t agreed?”
“No, Mira.” His large hands went down her back, down, down, down until he had her buttocks in them and he was squeezing them, and pulling her hard against him, until his erection was once again notched at her sex and she was melting away into a million molecules of pleasure. “Your stubborn, infuriating, sexy ass is mine for the next five years and I don’t mean to waste a single day of it.”
Mira pretended like her heart didn’t swap five years for something else and protested that it was four years and four months.
By the end of the night, the wily, cunning, ruthless man that was her husband had persuaded her that the clock had reset on the five years and Mira couldn’t find it in her to disagree. Not when he brought her to the edge, again and again, and made her body soar with pleasure. Not when after three orgasms, the man had spooned her from behind and thrust into her again, as insatiable as she was for him.
Five years with Aristos—more real and more intense than anything she’d ever asked for. Would they be enough to sustain her for a lifetime? Or would it be impossible and heartbreaking yet again to walk away from him?
When she shivered at the very thought, he gathered her to him until his very breath was hers. His fingers were at her forehead, smoothing away the frown as he whispered, “No overthinking this, wife.”
Mira smiled and nodded.
Queen for a day, she told herself, before falling asleep against the warm cocoon of her husband’s body with a wide smile.
CHAPTER THREE
Present day
THEDOUBLEDOORSto his office suite swung open so suddenly that Aristos gritted his teeth. An expletive hovered on his tongue about being disturbed when he was in the middle of reviewing case notes with his team, when silence fell around the noisy room like a muffling blanket.
Massaging the nape of his stiff neck with his fingers, he looked up and stilled.
Mira stood framed by the double doors, a large blush-pink shoulder bag dangling from her fingers, an overnight bag in the same color by her feet.
That bag wasn’t big enough.
He shoved the errant thought aside, reminding himself that she was here.
After years of being denied the thing he wanted most, after all the years of waiting, Mira was finally here.As his wife.Right, then, he would enjoy the success of the first step of his planandthe sight of her.
Dressed simply in dark blue skinny jeans that hugged shapely legs and wide hips, and a white V-necked T-shirt that showed off the hell out of her breasts, she looked sensational. Stunning. Delicious enough that he wanted to throw his staff out, seat her on his desk and lick her up all over.
Every inch of his body was hurting today. He was mainlining painkillers as if they were coffee after a brutal physio session, and still, Aristos felt the hungry clench of his abused muscles as he took in the glorious sight of her limned by light against the entrance.
Evening sunlight bathed her round face, showing him everything he was greedy for. Thick silky strands escaped her usual no-nonsense French braid, giving her a slightly disheveled look. A thin sheen of perspiration made her light brown skin glow. But there was also a pinched look to her features, fatigue drawing tight lines around her mouth.
Aristos frowned.
Mira had always had a plump face with big eyes, an arrogant nose, a wide mouth and a curvy figure—Christos, everything about her had become his type, and yet there was none of her usual radiance to her today. The hollowness of her cheeks said she’d clearly lost weight in the weeks since he’d seen her.
Was it just grief or something else? Should he have stayed and helped, despite Caio’s reassurances that he had everything under control? Did the stubborn woman even realize it was okay to lean on someone else from time to time?
Across the vast room, their gazes met. And held. Time itself seemed to come to a standstill as neither of them blinked. As if they were starring in one of those old Western movies Leo laughed at, engaging in some shady standoff, betting on who would win.
