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I don’t know when that became a need of mine, unraveling my husband. But now it’s jumped to number one on my list of priorities.
“Elizabeth,” Brogan grinds out my name through clenched teeth, “can I see you in the room for a minute?”
“Oh, I’m almost done here. You lovebirds can have the kitchen. I’ll be meditating in my room.”
“It’s fine, Gwen. We can—”
“No, stay. Enjoy breakfast.” She winks. “I won’t come out no matter what I hear.”
Heat burns my cheeks.
Does she think we’ll—?
In the kitchen?
My heart thunders.
Gwen scampers away and her son charges in.
Each step is swift.
Determined.
I inch back.
He stops in front of me, his body hovering over mine. I force my neck back so I can look at his thunderous expression head-on.
“What are you doing?” I snap, more irritated with my body’s rising temperature than with his invasion of my personal space.
“Steph is off-limits.”
“Sorry. Steph? Who’s that? I don’t think you’ve mentioned her before. You haven’t mentioned a lot of things.”
“Elizabeth,” he growls.
The dark, dangerous way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine. I push the feeling aside and stand to my feet, forcing him to back up and make room for me.
“Are you going to tell me?”
His nostrils flare.
He goes silent.
Huffing in annoyance, I shake my head. “I don’t know anything because you don’t talk to me.”
“That’s not part of our agreement.”
“You ordering me around isn’t a part of our agreement either, buddy. I signed up to be your wife,” I poke his chest. “Not your slave.”
He presses forward.
His huge, dominating presence fills my space.
I don’t back down. Even if I’m intimidated, I hold my ground and stare my big, hulking husband down.
The tension between us is as taunt as a guitar string.
“Don’t cross the line,” Brogan snarls.
