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I wondered if he was like that because there were people around us. Because he ought to be nice and gentle to me in public.
The thought scared me to death because something deep inside me wanted to cling to this new side of my husband and never let him go.
“Please. I just want my bed.” My voice broke midsentence as I tried hard not to cry.
I had a split lip I was pretty sure was going to reopen if I did. The gorgeous paramedic tapped his shoulder, and I almost mustered the strength to bite her head off, but then he shook out of her touch casually.
“It’s just shallow bruises,” I croaked.
“Get a private doctor to my place in an hour,” Wolfe snapped his fingers in the suited man’s direction, then turned back to me.
“Home,” I told him.
“Yes. Home.” Wolfe brushed hair from my face.
“Thank God,” the suit next to him muttered under his breath, already making the call.
“Shut up, Zion.”
“Yes, sir.”
I woke up in my bed some hours later after a doctor’s visit that stretched for almost two hours. Wolfe was sitting on the couch in front of my bed, working on his laptop.
The minute I cracked an eye open, he placed the laptop on the couch, stood up, and made his way to me. I curled under my sheets, too sore to be touched, but he just sat next to me and kept his hands in his lap.
“How is Smithy?” I asked.
He blinked at me as though the question itself was ridiculous.
Was I speaking in English? Pretty sure I was.
Then a smile hung on his beautiful face, like the moon, and I knew—with a good portion of melancholy—that I was in love with this cruel beast of a husband.
That for another one of those glowing, genuine smiles, I would butt horns with my father, slay dragons, and hand him my pride on a silver platter.
It was depressing to admit, even to myself, that I was under his thumb.
“That’s the first thing you ask after being chased off the roads by mobsters? How the help is doing?” He brushed his thumb across my cheek.
“He is not the help. He is a driver and our friend.”
“Oh, Nemesis.” He shook his head, his smile widening as he pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead.
The gesture was so touching I was on the verge of bursting into a sob. Without asking if I’d like water, he brought the glass on my nightstand to my cracked lips, helping me take a few sips.
“Sterling is worried like crazy. She went to the diner down the road and got you enough waffles to build a Hansel and Gretel candy house.”
“I’m not hungry.” I shifted in bed.
Somehow, everything hurt even more after a few hours. It wasn’t actually bruises, but the impact of the adrenaline on my body as it wore off.
“Shocking.” My husband rolled his eyes.
Senator Wolfe Keaton rolling his eyes exasperatedly was a sight I never thought I’d see.
“But I would love a cigarette.” I licked my lips, tasting the salty flavor of my dry blood.
He walked over to my desk and took out a thin Vogue cigarette from its pack, sitting by my side and sliding it between my lips.
