A muscle twitches in his cheek—a ghost of a smile. Whatishe reading?
I hate how the afternoon light drapes over his towering frame, how put together he is in his crisp white shirt, perfectly fitted double-breasted vest—a stunning forest green color this time—and gray dress pants.
“Careful there. All that ogling and I might think you’re in love with me,” he says, his obsidian hair glinting under the pendant light. He snaps his book shut.
“Stop copying me.”
“I didn’t do anything.” Hesmirks.
“I said that in the library…and yes, I still remember my temporary lapse of judgment.” My face warms. “You don’t have to worry. You’re the last person I’ll ever fall in love with.”
He stares at his lighter for a beat, slowly sliding it into his pocket.
When he looks up, those green eyes are cold as ice.
“Had a fun outing?” he asks.
“Why does it matter to you? You’re my husband in name only.”
His voice drops. “Do you want itnotto be in name only?”
He steps closer, each step shrinking the room. A current runs through my body.
Fight or flight.
“Is that what you want, Lana?”
He closes the distance. Space ceases to exist.
“N-No.” I back up until I hit the door. “You’re ridiculous.”
Slowly, Elias brings his hands up, caging me in. My breath stutters as I look up at him.
“I seem to recall someone being enthusiastic that night in the library. Or in the kitchen. Or in my office. Moving on my cock like you were desperate.” Body slowly pressing against mine, just a graze, a taunt, he murmurs, “Three times, Lana. Is that it? Is my wife lonely and horny? Am I not doing my husbandly duties?”
Heat flares through me at his words and the dark promise in his eyes.
My mouth dries. I wet my lips, and his gaze drops to the movement. A rough sound rumbles in his throat.
An ache flares between my legs.
What’s wrong with me? He’s the enemy.
A shadow encroaches on his irises like mist rolling in on a winter night.
Every part of him stills.
A predator lying in wait.
My hands move before my mind registers. I touch him—graze the silk emerald tie under his vest, feeling the sturdy muscles rippling underneath his shirt.
“That’s it,wife,” he rasps, leaning down, his lips hovering an inch from mine. “Pupils dilated. Pulse beating madly in your throat. The flush…beautiful pink flush. You want me, the man you hate, don’t you? Isthis what you dream about late at night, your body hot, aching, your soft skin rubbing against the sheets?”
A moan perches on the tip of my tongue. I’m hot. Burning.
I dig my body into the wall, fighting my basest impulse to arch up, to sample those perfectly curved lips.
To bury myself in his darkness.
