“Did you expect him to be?”
“I suppose not.”
“He was happy to see you, Evelyne.”
She inhaled deeply. Yes. Perhaps he’d been a little off-kilter, but therehadbeen so many changes, and he was no doubt bearing the brunt of them. Well, now that she was back perhaps she could take on some responsibility, ease some of his.
She turned to face Gabriel. To deal with the fact it wasn’t just her same old room, it wasn’t just Alex, Gabriel was in her life now. Permanently, more or less.
She studied his expression. Guarded. Stiff. He didn’t want to be here, but he was. What did she do with that?
A childhood of abuse, coupled with a brother who did everything he could to protect her from what parts of the abuse he knew about, had taught her that her only option was to roll with the punches.
She thought she’d done a pretty good job, through the past nine months of her escape and exile. And something about this pregnancy had supported the one truth she’d held on to to get her through the tough times.
Yes, there werealwaystough times, things to endure. But there was also always goodness and hope and something lovely on the horizon. Life was peaks and valleys of good and bad—sometimes all at the same time.
So it was imperative to reach out and relish in the good, hold on to it while it was there. She could be offended by Gabriel, she could be mad at him, she could bemoan the fact he didn’t love her.
Or she could just enjoy him. Take what good there was in this situation and let that outweigh the bad.
She studied the handsome man in her bedroom, who she was now technically married to even though they’d said no vows. Perhaps that was notgoodas a whole, but there were parts of good to be found within this situation.
“I suppose you will have to share a bed with me, whether you want to or not,” Evelyne said, trying for innocent, no doubt sounding smug. “If you want Alex to believe my little story.”
“And what a story it was,” he muttered. He ripped his tie off and tossed it on the chair. Frustration was at a boiling point, she could tell. And perhaps it was her great tragedy that shelikedhis boiling point. Shelovedwhen he lost control.
It was like seeing under a very shiny surface. Oh, she’d enjoyed his smiles and charm. The innate ease of friendliness he’d moved about the palace withbefore, but seeing the explosions underneath had revealed a much more interesting and alluring man.
Or you’re just really messed up.
He undid the top button of his shirt like he was feeling a bit…strangled.
“Let me help,” she said, moving over to him. She reached up to the second button and undid it before he grabbed her wrists and stopped her forward progress.
“We will not be doing this again,” he told her darkly, stepping away from her and letting her wrists go.
She sighed. Would she always be throwing herself at him? Maybe. And maybe she should find some sort of shame over that, but for all her exhaustion, there was something else winding its way through her body, and she wanted him to take care of it.
Six months she had done her level best not to think of him, what he’d brought out in her, what they’d brought out in each other. But he was here now.
She smoothed her hands up his chest, just as she had done the first time she’d thrown herself at him. Would it ever get old? Would it ever start to be embarrassing?
Or was the sex justthatgood?
For both of them. Whatever his reservations about her, they were not their physical compatibility.
She still remembered the exact growled tenor of when he’d said shehauntedhim.
Had he thought of her in such ways these past six months? She hoped it tortured him, the thought of their night together.
But not enough to withhold the same now.
“Why not? We are married. You said so yourself. We areactuallymarried and will function as such. I will not tolerate affairs, so I suppose you shall have to settle for me if you’re expecting to enjoy more than your hand.”
He scowled at her, but she saw the sparks of heat. Of want. Whatever he thought of her as a person, there was no denying they had chemistry.
A good. A good she wanted to enjoy.
