“No!” She huffs. “It was a figure of speech. Not a very good one, obviously, but I’m a little worn out after all the excitement. And why are you so grouchy? Everything went well.”
“I’m not grouchy. I’m thinking.” I’ll be damned if I tell her how much her interaction with Jason bothered me.
Besides, this marriage isn’t about me not being her first choice or her blatant smile discrimination. It can’t be. It’s about her cornering me into a position I never wanted. Frankly, if she hadn’t forced me, I wouldn’t be plagued with this uncomfortable feeling—like the burning sensation you get in the gut after eating a bunch of raw jalapeños.
Low-grade resentment starts to simmer.
“Okay, then,” she says skeptically. “Do you want to move in tonight?”
I shrug. “Why not?”
“I’ll have Matthias ready the second suite, then. I’ll set up a home office for you as well, since you’re keen on having your own space.”
Matthias? “Who’s that?” Her live-in pool boy? Some rent-a-gigolo?
“My butler.” Her guard is fully up. “You can bring someone, too, if you want, but Matthias stays. He’s been with me since I was a kid.”
“I don’t have anybody to bring,” I say. “I’m at the Aylster Residence, remember?”
Her mouth forms an O.
Guess she forgot in her excitement over seeing Jason and my dad. I stretch my legs out, wishing I could kick both of them. “How airtight is your NDA?”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t want your butler telling everyone we have separate bedrooms.”
“Don’t worry, he’s discreet. And yes, he signed an NDA.” She shifts until she’s sitting with her back straight with her hands folded in her lap, like a proper lady.
It’s cute. And oddly sexy—it makes me want to muss her up until she’s no longer seated so respectably.
Her skirt pushed up to her waist, her legs spread and her hair messy and falling around her lust-flushed face. That’s how I want her.
“And if he wants to know why we’re using separate bedrooms,” she continues, “we’ll just tell him you snore.”
I bark out a laugh. “I do not snore.”
She pulls her lips in for a second, then finally sighs. “Fine.I’llbe the one who snores, if it’ll spare your dignity.”
“Are you loud? Or do you sound like a little puppy?” I ask, hoping to crack her composure.
“Neither. I don’t snore,” she responds primly.
Then I recall how she reacted when I asked about sex. “What if you need to scratch the itch? Are you going to sneak into my room at night? Or ask me to sneak into yours?”
“No sneaking around will be required.” Her pose couldn’t grow more rigid. “I’ll deal with my itches my own way.”
Images of the men she’s been involved with flash by in a maddening slideshow. Even if only half the sex scandals are true, she’s slept with most of the male population of L.A., all of whom would undoubtedly want to do it again. “My wife will not turn to other men.”
Her mouth tightens. “I saidI’lldeal with it. These days there are plenty of mechanical options. Your services will not be required.”
“And what ifIneed to scratch the itch?”
Her gaze makes a quick circuit, roaming over me from eyes to mouth to crotch and back. In the dim light, I can see her throat move. “You’re free to do whatever you please, so long as you’re discreet.” Her tone is tart, almost dismissive.
Would she have said that if Jason were sitting here?
The unbidden question slices through my head, bringing the unpleasant burning feeling back to my gut. “If you got on your knees, I might not turn to other women.”
