He kisses my brow and sets me down on my feet, but his hands remain firmly on my waist, trapping me in his possessive hold.
“I’m not concerned about it,” he reassures me. “You’ll be able to cover the rent yourself in no time. Then you can look at buying a more permanent space.”
He’d offered to buy a property for my gallery, but I want to earn this for myself. Rental was a compromise until I can generate enough revenue to buy a place for myself.
It’s a small miracle that we were able to secure this place so quickly. It’s only been three weeks since we returned to Charleston, but Dane was single-minded in his determination to make my dream come true.
His eyes glimmer with almost feral anticipation. “How shall we celebrate, my queen?”
My breath catches. He’s never called me that before.
“I have a few ideas,” he says in a wicked rumble that makes my core quiver.
I lick my lips, catching on to his carnal mood. “Like what?”
He tips his head in the direction of the back room. “We could find out how soundproof the office is.”
My cheeks heat even as my core flutters. “Dane!” I scold. “I don’t want to scandalize the neighboring businesses on my first day in the building.”
He grins. “Then you’ll have to be very quiet, pet. I’m sure I can figure out a way to gag you if you’ll be more comfortable that way.”
I scoff. “That’s not helping.”
“On the contrary,” he teases. “If you don’t want to bother your neighbors, I think a gag will be very helpful. Your panties will do nicely. Are they already wet for me?”
“Dane!”
“Abigail.”
I release a huff of exasperation, but I’m not really annoyed.
A bell rings, shattering the intimate moment. We both look toward the glass door in confusion. No one should be interested in entering an empty shop on a Saturday morning.
My stomach drops to the floor.
My mother strides into my new gallery like she owns the place, my father trailing after her with a bored expression on his weathered face. And—oh, god—even Uncle Jeffrey is with them.
Dane angles his powerful body in front of mine, instantly protective in the face of my relatives.
I gather my courage and step up beside him. I can’t cower behind my husband.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is clear and calm, and Dane threads his fingers through mine in a show of solidarity and pride.
His support bolsters me like nothing else. I’m able to square my shoulders and meet my mother’s ice blue gaze without flinching.
Her Botox-frozen features give nothing away, her expression unnervingly enigmatic. But her voice is all honeyed warmth when she says, “We came to see your gallery, darling.”
Confusion knits my brow. “How did you even know I’d be here?”
Her affable smile doesn’t reach her sharp, calculating eyes. “A member of my bridge club owns this building. She was so excited to tell me that you’ve rented the space for your little art project.”
Dane tenses beside me, and I quickly place a restraining hand on his corded forearm.
“We just had to come see it for ourselves,” she continues. “It’s been ages since Meadows’ wedding, and we barely had a chance to speak to you before you two ran off.” She makes a sound like a conspiratorial giggle, but it’s too sharp to be genial. “You’d think we scared you away.”
“I took Abigail home,” Dane says, ice cold. He’s not bothering to put on a show for my family. “We found the company distasteful, and I didn’t feel like putting up with the farce any longer.”
Mama draws back slightly in the face of his emotionless, clinical stare. Even my spine tingles with unease at the primal recognition of a predator at my side.
