I said something incoherent, and then another growl rattled my chest.
“Happy Anniversary,” she said, and then laughed right before she went in for the kill.
* * *
I knew she had too much to do, a day’s worth of practice, but that didn’t stop me from trying to keep her in bed. She pranced around the room on one foot, attempting to get her boot on, lifting this and that and sticking it in her bag, all at once.
“I’m going to be so late!”
“Call in sick.”
She huffed at me. “I would. You know I would,” she said, almost defensive. “But I—”
“I know,” I said, keeping my hands behind my head. The sheets were bunched up around one thigh, the rest of me exposed. It had been a good morning. “Youhaveto go.”
“Riccardo wants to go over a few things.”
Riccardo Bacchi was her dance partner. The world called them the perfect partnership, the most romantic duo of this century. A dance couple that made the audience feel their chemistry with an electric shock.
Yeah, I had a time with all of that. But I had made a vow before I married Scarlett that I would never interfere in her career. “Dominant,” “domineering,” and “volatile beast” were a few of the adjectives Scarlett had used to describe me—but not when it came to her career. She had my support. A talent such as hers would have been a sin to waste. I didn’t need another one of those.
My wife and Bacchi were in the midst of a performance,Beauty and the Beast.
She caught a glimpse of me and stopped hurrying. “Dear God,” she moaned out.
“Tell me.” I grinned.
“You look…” She put her finger to her lip and tapped.
“Like a beast.” I growled at her.
She smirked. “Yes, like anarrogantbeast.”
I had cause to be. I had made my wife scream my name, beg for more, and smell like me all over, a couple of times—all before seven o’clock.
“That’s not what you were going to say, though.” I stretched and her breath caught.
“No,” she breathed out. “It wasn’t.” Just before our eyes made the full connection again, she shivered. “I’m going to be late!”
I grinned, getting out of bed, going to retrieve my own clothes. I took her to practice every morning and picked her up every evening—if I couldn’t be there, a few men replaced me.
“Brando?” she called from the room.
I shut the water off, toothbrush halted halfway to my mouth. “Yeah.”
“You’re not taking any calls today, are you?”
She popped up beside me, all decked out and ready to go. Not a hair out of place along her slick bun.
I shook my head. “Not today.”
“I don’t want to worry,” she said, giving me a pointed look.
I took her chin in my hand and placed a soft kiss on her lips. Her eyes stayed closed even when I pulled away. “You don’t have to.”
She nodded once, said “bene,” and then left to grab the rest of her stuff from downstairs.
“Thank you, Eunice!” I heard her practically yell. “I’m going to besolate!”
