The look she throws me is murderous, but she complies.
With slow, graceful movements, she inches forward, rounding my desk before entering my personal space, hauling herself up on the mahogany between my legs. My gaze lowers to her naked thighs, only covered by the short, thin layer of a pretty sundress. I don’t fail to notice the way she presses them together.
“Let me tell you something,” I say. “If I ask one of my men for an apple, they bring it to me. If I ask for my wife, they bringyouto me just the same. And if I feel like bending you over this desk with your pretty legs spread and your cunt wet and ready, there’s not a soul in this house who’d dare stop me. Because why?”
Her upper lip curls. “Because you own me?”
“Because I own you, Victoria,” I say, planting both hands on her thighs.
Her mouth parts, a silent gasp pushing past her lips.
“And if I wanted to get a hooker, I would’ve done so already. And you would’ve known.”
“Please… as if you’re not fucking other women when you’re not with me.” She rolls her eyes.
I want to tell her that I don’t, but the fact that she brought it up means it matters to her. So I refrain from answering just to see if this is going to brew inside her. To see if she confronts me about it at all down the line.
“I heard what you said a few days ago. When you were in the library.”
A crease settles between her brows. “You’re spying on me?”
“I don’t need to. The walls have ears around here. And they all report to me.”
She keeps watching me, probably wondering where this is going. And to be honest, I don’t fucking know. All I know is she defended me, and I didn’t deserve it. Not from her.
“Why did you do it?”
She looks away, knowing exactly what I’m asking. I swipe my hand across her smooth thighs, drawing a deeper breath from her chest.
“Why did you defend me, love? You said it yourself… I don’t deserve you.”
“It doesn’t matter. If I were truly your wife, that’s what I would do. I defend my own like…”
“Like I defended you in the church?”
She’s silent, but I don’t need her to answer more than that. Something tightens in my chest, my breathing mimicking hers. No one has done that for me before. No one has ever taken my side without asking for something in return.
“Why does Mikhail hate you so much, anyway?”
“It’s a long story. What were you doing?”
“What?”
“When you said you were busy. What were you doing?”
She shrugs. “Helping in the kitchen.”
My brows rise at the confession. I didn’t expect her to want to help anyone in this house.
“Find something else to do. I don’t want you there.”
“Afraid I’m going to poison you?” She smirks, but I’m in no mood for jokes.
I pay my staff three times more than what they asked, and make sure they have all the help they need to maintain the house. My wife shouldn’t be working, especially not for free. In fact, it really fucking rubs me the wrong way that she is.
“I said don’t go there anymore. Here.” I pull out my black Amex card and place it on the desk. “Buy whatever you want to keep yourself occupied.”
“Wow. You really think I’m stupid, don’t you?” She throws her head back, laughing a little. And fuck, it’s without a doubt the most beautiful laugh I’ve ever heard in my life—warm, candid, and full of life. “No, thanks. I don’t take money from anyone, let alone my enemy. God knows what I’d be getting myself into to settle the debt.”
