By the time he pulled back, her lungs were burning, her head spinning, her eyes barely able to open.
“Why are you avoiding me?” he demanded hoarsely, his forehead nearly touching hers. “What is wrong with you? You don’t even answer my fucking phone calls.”
His chest rose and fell heavily. His eyes were wild, furious, unhinged with worry and anger he hadn’t bothered to hide.
“If I say it’s because I don’t want to talk to you,” Mia said quietly, lifting her chin despite the tremor in her voice, “will you leave me alone?”
Alexander’s gaze darkened further. “What do you think?” he replied coldly.
He bent down again and crushed his mouth against hers, biting down on her lip hard enough to make her gasp—punishing, possessive—before pulling back just as abruptly.
“If you don’t pick up my calls from now on,” he said, his voice low and fierce, “I will appear wherever you are and kiss you in front of everybody.”
Mia’s shock snapped into anger.
She scowled, shoving at his chest. “Mr. Graves! Do you really think you’re my real husband for me to pick up your calls immediately?”
Alexander inhaled sharply.
He stepped back, then reached up and shrugged out of his jacket. Without a word, he draped it over her shoulders, wrapping it around her firmly. His hands gripped the collar, pulling her closer as he tightened it around her neck—not choking, but inescapable.
His voice dropped, soft and dark.
“Yes,” he growled. “I am your husband.”
His eyes locked onto hers, burning. “I will be your husband until the day you die—and in the next seven fucking lives.”
Mia immediately pushed at his hands and the jacket. “I don’t want it. Take it back,” she said, twisting her shoulders as she tried to shrug it off.
Alexander didn’t budge.
Instead, he stepped closer and pulled the jacket tighter around her, wrapping it more securely over her shoulders. His voice snapped out sharp. “It’s cold out here. Wear it and go inside.”
Mia immediately pushed at his hands and the jacket. “I don’t want it. Take it back,” she said, twisting her shoulders, trying to shake the fabric off.
Alexander didn’t let go. His hands tightened around the jacket instead, pulling it closer around her arms, his fingers firm at her shoulders.
“It’s cold out here,” he snapped, though his voice softened halfway through the sentence. “Wear it and then go inside the house.”
Mia’s jaw clenched. Her teeth pressed together so hard it hurt. If she said one more word, he wouldn’t leave. He would keep standing there, keep arguing, keep watching her.
So she stopped fighting.
She grabbed the front of the jacket herself, tightening her hold on it, then twisted her body sideways and stepped out of his arms.
Alexander leaned forward instantly. Before she could move away, his lips brushed against her cheek—brief, warm, deliberate. One last touch.
Then he straightened and finally stepped back.
Mia didn’t hesitate. She turned and walked quickly toward the house, her steps firm against the ground. She pulled the jacket tighter around herself as she reached the door and went inside.
As she closed it, she paused for just a second and glanced through the narrowing gap.
Alexander was still there.
He stood in the same spot, shoulders squared, his hands tucked into his pockets, eyes fixed on her.
Their gazes locked.
