I realize two things at once: One, she played me. Hard. Two, she didn’t load the CO2 container correctly.
Her face falls.
I raise my gun to her chest with a wicked grin, confidence still surging in my veins. “I guarantee mine would go off if I pulled the trigger, but since I’m obviously the kind of man who destroys cities for his woman, I won’t take the shot. Instead, you’ll stay by my side as I bring this arena to ruins, keeping you safe until it’s down to me and you.”
Hayden swallows, something akin to fear and desire pooling in her brown eyes. Electricity hums around us like the barricade wall enclosing our location is a hot live wire.
It’s invigorating. I want to guzzle it down like a man deprived of water. I want to make Hayden’s breath hitch and heart race faster with my words. I need her to feel like she made me feel.
“And then,” I continue, leaning in to whisper in her ear, “I’ll destroyyou.”
She turns her head, her lips parted, and our faces are only breaths apart. If I just inched forward, I could press my lips to hers.Taste her…
She doesn’t move, and neither do I. We sit, staring into each other’s eyes. The stand-off of the century. Who will fire first? Who will fold?
Screams begin ringing out.
Hayden knocks my rifle from my hands, then sprints away.
Grabbing my rifle, I slump against the alcove wall and take a few steadying breaths.
What the—curse—was that?
Chapter Seventeen
Hayden
“Divine Princess!” His voice booms and carries across the house. A couple of days ago, I discovered this nickname he had for me because he couldn’t find his phone and asked me to call it for him. Turns out, it was near me, and I got to it first, discovering my supposedly unflattering nickname.
Little did he know I liked it.
I cover my mouth to hide my laughter as the curtain around me ruffles with each little shake of my body. He’s too close to finding me in the sitting room for me to respond now.Be still,I silently scold myself. It’s almost midnight, and on nights like this when Darcy’s up late, stressing out, and on a horrendous rampage, I try to lighten the mood by being childish and silly. I admit it’s not the most becoming method for me to use, but it works.
I think he secretly likes it.
The curtains open with a swoosh, and I stare into the deadly blue eyes of my husband.Wow, the term comes so easily to me now.Has it been a littleover a month already?
“Yes. A month of literal hell,” he barks, answering my apparently spoken thought and grabbing my arms, yanking me from the curtains. Since the paintball game last week, he’s started touching me in little ways—and if I’m being honest, it’s almost as if he finds reasons to touch me. I still initiate in front of cameras, but Darcy? He’s taking initiativeoff-screen.
The thought causes a wave of heat to crash over me.
One month of suffocating in Darcy’s presence every day and every night has done something weird to my brain. Sure, he’s always been attractive. But living with him? It’s like a switch buried deep within me labeled “wife mode” has been flicked on while my hormones harass me—not just for physical encounters such as the little touches, but also for emotional connection, which I get on occasion from him. It’s making me spiral into a pit of longing.
Not for Darcy, necessarily, but for something genuine andreal.
“Admit it,” I tease as I look him over. He’s still sporting his suit from work today. “You like being married to me. I bring a bit of fun into your life, Killjoy.” It was only appropriate that I shared my nickname I had for him. At least he hasn’t realized my ringtone for him is “Love Yourself” by Justin Bieber.
“Chaos. That’s what you bring. Maybe I should change your nickname to that?” He drops his hands from my arms. This has been another change for the better. Darcy says more than simple sentences to me on the daily. Even when it’s not work-related. Sure, most of the time it’s grumpy with a sprinkling of condescension, but I’ll take what I can get.
Secretly, I desire more of the man from the paintball arena, but I could never bring myself to admit that aloud. That would be equivalent to admitting that Ilikelike Darcy.
And I’m 85 percent sure I do not like him likethat.I just like the flirty and playful banter and the light touches letting me know someone chose me and cares.
I would almost call us friendly now. At the very least, we are no longer awkward people learning the ropes of a marriage of convenience who ignore each other as we pass in the hallway or end up in the kitchen together. He nods his head, sometimes says hello or hey, and then I respond with a peppy smile and something out of the ordinary. A perplexed expression will cross his face, and then he will continue with whatever he was doing. I enjoy those moments the most. He can’t figure me out, and I love that.
“I much prefer Divine Princess.” I bat my eyelashes.
“All the more reason to change it.” He smirks, then fixes his expression back to his regularly scheduled scowl. It’s the flashes of expression that key me into his true emotions regarding situations. His media mask is perfected, but with me, the mask has holes. Darcy sighs and runs a hand through his tousled blond hair. “I’m sorry it’s late, but I need your help finalizing the schedule for the rally. I didn’t know I would have to play a game of Marco-Polo to find you and make my request.”
