“I prefer honest.”
“I prefer silent.”
“Ciara, I’m kidding. What exactly do you expect from me tonight?”
I don’t answer.
A frown appears between his dark brows. “Do you think I’ll drag you to the bedroom? Try to claim what’s mine now that I’ve put a ring on your finger?”
My jaw clenches, and I ball my hands into fists as my anger spikes.
The thought of him having any claim over me makes me sick to my stomach. But then the edge of my ring digs into my skin, and I realize it’s too late to fight him.
Even if he doesn’t take me to bed, I’m still tied to him in every other way.
“I’m not that man, Ciara. Despite what you think.” His voice is hard.
I look at him then with a mixture of anger and disgust. “No? Then what are you?”
“Your husband.”
The words settle between us like a loaded gun.
Ronan’s eyes darken as he looks at me, but I can tell he’s enjoying every second of my discomfort and the twisted power play happening between us. What’s worse is that I think a part of me is enjoying it too.
Fighting with him is giving me something to hold on to when everything else has been stripped away.
Being angry is a hell of a lot easier than being miserable, so I cling to that anger with every ounce of strength I have left because I don’t think I can survive my new life without it.
The car turns into the long, winding driveway lined with hedges manicured to within an inch of their lives. His house, or ratherourhouse, looms at the end like a castle, and I half expect there to be a drawbridge and moat.
Even before my own family’s estate fell pretty much into ruin, it was never this grand. But I refuse to let myself be impressed by the ostentation.
The driver parks the car and cuts the engine, but neither Ronan nor I make any move to get out.
“You know…” Ronan eventually turns in his seat. “There’s a clause in the contract about wifely duties. It’s all very traditional.”
“I must have missed the part in the contract where I agreed to become your personal plaything.”
He shrugs before reaching between us to unbuckle my seatbelt. He’s not close enough to touch me, but I still catch a waft of his cologne and bite back a moan at the rich, musky scent.
God, he smells incredible.
“I’ve got a sharp memory,” he murmurs. “I’m pretty sure it was in the fine print.”
“You can service yourself, Sullivan. I’ll have no part in it.”
He doesn’t even blink. “I might do just that. And I canguarantee, sweetheart, that when I do, you’ll be front and center in my mind.”
I almost choke on my own breath as Ronan’s gaze travels down my body, lingering a fraction too long on my breasts.
“Especially, in that dress. Or maybe out of it.”
Heat born of anger, and something else I refuse to name, flares across my cheeks, but before I can clear my head long enough to retort, Ronan slides out of the car and walks around to open my door, then he offers me his hand as if he’s some sort of gentleman.
I hesitate but think of my heels and my long dress. It’s less mortifying to take his hand than to trip on my dress.
Except the moment our palms meet and I step out of the car, Ronan yanks me forward with zero warning, pulling me flush against his chest.
