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The light in his eyes banks, and his features harden. He’s switched back to his hot priest persona.How sad is it, that even though he can’t share his past with me, even though he prefers to keep so many of his thoughts and emotions to himself, even though his unfeeling demeanor is back, I find it sexy? He’s hurting me, and I’m no less attracted to him. Where’s my survival instinct when I need it?
"Don’t ask me to do that. It’s something I’d prefer to forget, to move on.” He scowls.
"And have you? Either forgotten it, or moved on from it?"
His jaw tics.
I look between his eyes, “You can’t bury what happened and pretend everything is fine when it’s not. You can’t move forward until you resolve the issues associated with what happened."
"And have you moved on from the fact that your father traded your future for his company?" He sneers.
“You know, I haven’t.” I glance away then back at him. "The difference is, I've talked about it and shared my feelings with you. I didn't try to keep anything a secret.”
“Not all of us can be so perfect.” He curls his lip. “Not all of us can go around wearing our heart on our sleeve and sharing our emotions with the world.”
I stiffen. “Not all of us are unfeeling jerk-holes.”
He raises a shoulder. "Never pretended otherwise."
I rub at my temple. "I know you’re lashing out at me because you’re hurting."
"I’m simply stating a fact. As for my hurting, you don’t have to worry; I have ways to manage the fallout from it."
My heart leaps into my throat. The blood thuds at my temples. "What do you mean?"
"I have good coping mechanisms. It’s how I’ve survived this far, after all."
"You’re talking about the BDSM club?" I swallow.
He inclines his head. "You don’t have a problem if I go without you, do you?"
"And if I did?" I set my jaw. "I’m your wife. We’re married. And you’re telling me you’re going to a BDSM club without me?"
"And since I’ve broken my 'vow of abstinence'"—he makes air-quotes with his fingers—"there’s nothing to hold me back, is there?"
Anger squeezes my guts, and the band around my chest tightens. I try to draw in a breath, but my lungs burn.How dare he taunt me with that? How dare he treat me with such little consideration? How dare he break my heart? I will not stand for it. I allowed my family to walk all over me. I kept my father’s best interests at heart, but that doesn't mean I intend to put up with his bullshit."Was I a dutiful daughter? Yes, I was. Did I want to be a dutiful wife? Yes, I did. But you know what? Fuck that."
His gaze widens. I realize it’s the first time he’s heard me swear aloud.Well, watch out, buster, there’s more where that came from. I refuse to take this insult lying down. I refuse to allow my ego to take a beating. I refuse to hand over my power to anyone else."So, you’re going to the BDSM club, hmm?"
"That’s what I said." He yawns, then pulls back the sleeve of his expensive jacket and glances at his $10,000 dollar watch. "Look at the time. I need to get going. As for you, you need to get back to your desk. You need to cancel the rest of my appointments for today. I’m going to be busy with other things." One side of his lips curls.
Fish-on-a-stick, if he thinks I am going to stand aside and let him leave, he is so wrong. I shrug out of my jacket, and it falls to the ground.
"What are you doing?" He frowns.
In answer I reach behind, unhook my skirt, then shimmy it down my thighs. I kick it aside, then look up to find his gaze is fixed on my legs. Color smears his cheeks. A nerve throbs at his temple. He seems entranced by my little strip-tease. Not the finest or most coordinated, I admit, but that hasn’t stopped him from curling his fingers at his sides into fists.
"Belle," he says in that deep, hard voice of his. There’s a thread of anger, a threat running through it. A shiver squeezes my legs. My nipples tighten.Do I know what I’m doing? Of course, not. But my instinct says I’m on the right track. Am I pissed off with him for saying he’ll go to the BDSM club? You betcha. And am I going to teach him not to throw that in my face again? What do ya think?I grip the hem of my blouse, pull it over my head, and when I lower my arms, I gasp, for he’s standing in front of me.
"You…sure move like your namesake."
His gaze is fixated on my chest. I’m wearing a bra, but it’s see through. Which means, he can see my nipples stand to attention through the sheer fabric. He licks his lips.
"Don’t you want to ask who I’m talking about? No matter, I’ll tell you. It’s Edward from Twilight, the vampire who glows in the sun. He moves really fast, like you did."
"Thought you were a Jacobite?" His voice is low and hard, and the promises hidden in there slingshot a trembling to my core.
"I… I think I’m converted." My fingers twitch, and the blouse slithers to the floor.
