“Calder—”
He shrugs out of his heavy jacket and tosses it on a chair. “Let me show you.”
Show me?“What do you mean?”
A shiver runs down my spine, desire and need rippling through my core.
“Walk to the bed and sit.” His voice has taken on that commanding edge I’m learning to recognize. The one that says arguing is pointless.
I don’t move. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to show you something.”
Fear and something infinitely more dangerous snakes through my veins. “Why not just?—”
“Tell you?” His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. Not pulling, just holding. “Because I’m not always good with words, and I’d rather show you.”
“Are you going to hurt me?”
“No, Saint. I’m not going to hurt you, but I’m sure by the time I’m done, you’ll wish I had.” He releases me and takes astep back. “Now walk over to the bed and don’t make me repeat myself.”
I give him one last glance before I do as I’m told. The bed is warm from the fire still burning in the hearth, and I brace myself against the blanket, trying to steady my breathing.
If he thinks I’m going to have sex with him, he’s out of his mind. Calder steps closer, deliberately. Like he’s giving me time to run again. Testing to see if I will.
I don’t.
My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I’m sure he can see it through the flannel. Stopping directly in front of me, he stands close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
“The night you kissed me. It did something to my brain. Fried it. Fucked me all up.”
My throat tightens. “It did?”
“It made me realize something was missing in my life. It made me crave something I’ve never craved before. That night, I told you to leave me alone, to stay away from me, but every chance I got to be in the same room with you, I took it. I wanted to be near you, touch you, smell you. You were in my fucking head.” He points at his temple.
“I’m sorry.” My lips tremble as I apologize, mainly because I don’t know what else to say.
“Don’t be sorry. I should be sorry. For not having enough self-control. For not being strong enough to end it.” He shakes his head, and that dark look returns to his eyes. “It wasn’t until after I couldn’t have you that I wanted you. It was my fault, and I told myself I would learn to deal with it. To get over it. Then everything with Martin happened, and the thought of killing you ripped me apart. I couldn’t do it. Even knowing the consequence was death. One kiss, Saint, and I was ready to kill for you. That’s all it took. Marrying you was to protect you, sure. But it was alsoa selfish choice because I knew if you married me, then I could keep you, make you mine, which is exactly what I wanted.” The raw honesty in his voice steals my breath.
“So it was a lie. You did want me,” I whisper.
“Isn’t it obvious? I pushed you away to protect you. You were young. Hell, you’re still young. You didn’t know what you wanted. “ His hands go to his belt. “None of that matters now. It’s too late to run you off now. Now you’re mine. My wife. My responsibility. Mine to do with as I please.”
“What are you going to do with me?”
“You’re about to find out. Take off your jeans.”
My whole body goes rigid. “What?”
“You heard me. Jeans off. Now.”
“No.”
“Saint.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. The choice is yours, but the outcome will still be the same.” I stare at him, searching for any sign he’s bluffing. But his eyes contain nothing but dark determination.
He means it. Every word.
“This has nothing to do with you marrying me,” I say, even as my hands move to the button on my jeans.
