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It was probably best they were waiting. She needed to get hold of her virginal nerves and beat them into submission. She’d shown him enough of her vulnerability when she’d been a lovelorn teenager. No, he didn’t get any more. She was taking now.
So there.
The men, who had been droning all through her drinking and nodding along and fake smiling at whoever passed, were done now and were headed away from them. She was pretty sure she’d forgotten to say goodbye, but she’d been too lost in her own thoughts.
“So what now?” she asked. “Make more small talk? Smile for the camera? Do a dance for all of our admirers?” She gestured out toward the dance floor.
“I don’t dance,” he said, straightening his shoulders.
Just looking at him hurt. He was the epitome of masculine beauty in his tux, dark hair short and neat, not a hair out of place. And yet, there was something about him, no matter how contained he looked, that hinted at something darker beneath the surface. Something frozen in a block of ice. All it would take was a little heat and...
“We should dance,” she said, lifting her chin, feeling defiant. Feeling angry. At herself mostly, for being such a stupid...girl where he was concerned. A look at his powerful physique and she got all fluttery. If he flashed ab she’d probably die.
Pathetic, woman. Pathetic.
“I already told you,” he said, his voice hushed, “I don’t...”
“But I do. And you deprived me of a dance on our wedding day since you were so eager to have me alone.” She arched a brow. “You wouldn’t deny your bride her first dance with her husband, would you?”
Something, she didn’t know what, compelled her to push further, harder. Maybe it was the fact that he was acting like the wounded party. Like this wasn’t a major deal for her. Like it was okay to just turn her down in front of all these people. She took a step toward him, placed her palm flat against his chest.
He didn’t feel like ice. No, not even close. He was fire against her skin, and with very little trouble she knew he could melt her.
“Dance with me,” she whispered, keeping her eyes trained on his.
He caught her wrist, a strange look in his eye, one of curiosity. Detached, but present. He bent his head, his eyes never leaving hers, and lifted her arm to his lips, pressing a kiss to the sensitive underside of her wrist.
It sent a shiver over her veins, back to her heart, which jolted in response. Her stomach tightened to the point of pain, breathing a luxury her body couldn’t afford. Not at the moment, not when all of her was focused on Ajax’s lips against her bare skin.
“I think it would be best if I waited to hold you like that until we’re in private,” he said, his tone intimate, husky, and yet, she was aware of the people that were standing close, potentially overhearing. “I do not trust myself where you’re concerned.”
Everything in her shook. Breathing becoming impossible. “All right then,” she said, her voice a choked whisper. More weakness. She hated it. “But you’d better make it very worth my while when we’re in private. Don’t make promises you can’t back up.”
“Never, agape. Never.”
The evening wound down with more small talk, more champagne, more little touches that were dissolving her cool by inches.
And by the time they were driving back to his villa, she was just exhausted. Emotionally. Physically. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to endure this...this marriage. Two days in and she was sure she’d aged ten years.
It was tiring to have to cling to her armor so tightly. Over the years it had become a second skin. Effortless to wear. But now? Now it felt like she was clinging to it for dear life.
She closed her eyes and rested her head on the seat as Ajax maneuvered the car out of the city and onto the back roads. She tried to just breathe steadily. She tried the whole way back. She tried when he pulled the car up to the house and killed the engine. She tried as they walked inside, side by side, not touching at all.
It was dark in the house. She noticed that Ajax kept a minimum of staff, and that they all clocked out at the end of normal workday hours. Dinners were delivered. Ajax seemed to isolate himself as much as possible, and not by accident.
Weird that he’d wanted to get married at all, but then, that was love for you.
It was why she’d sworn off it so long ago.
Feelings. Feelings were stupid. Feelings were awful. She didn’t want to think about feelings. Not the emotional kind.
She turned to look at him, and the heat that had been on a low simmer in her blood all night started firing again, anger stoking the flame, sending the simmer into a rolling boil that she could hardly contain.
