A shiver wanders through me.
THIRTY-FIVE
Rosalie
Ican’t believe we’re in Nevada. How could I have slept the entire way? Sure, I’ve been tired, but this is insane. “We are not getting married.” I sound breathless. Why do I sound like that?
Alexei grasps my waist and lifts me onto his lap, making sure I’m straddling him. My skirt rides up, arousal swamps me, and panic grabs me. I push against his good shoulder, careful of the wounded one.
He claps a hand over mine. “Baby, there’s too much going on, and attorney-client privilege doesn’t apply to a lot that’s happened. You know I set up and then killed Reyes in prison, and at some point, an ambitious prosecutor is going to ask you about that. But spousal privilege would protect us both. Plus, that letter opener is a problem. If I’m charged, they’re going to ask you about my visits to your office and put me there with the weapon.”
“Did you take it?”
“No.”
I suck in air. “Spousal privilege attaches to conversations between spouses and not actions. If a wife sees her husband commit a crime, she can still testify.”
“But she can’t be compelled because of the adverse spousal testimony privilege. It’s up to the spouse if they want to testify or not in that case.”
I lean back. He’s right. “How in the world do you know that?”
His gaze drops to my mouth. “I spent seven years in prison and read a lot.”
Apparently so. “That’s a crappy reason to get married.” Yes, I’ve had dreams of my wedding since I was a little girl playing make believe with my friends. White dress, red flowers, tall and steady blonde man in a tuxedo smiling with tears in his eyes as I walk down the aisle. Alexei is the opposite of all of that. “I’m not getting married in a crappy little chapel in Nevada.” Not the point. My brain is mush with this man. “I’m not marrying you, I mean. You can’t want a marriage of convenience, either.”
His hands go to my skirt, his thumbs tucking beneath the fabric as he pushes the material all the way up. “There’s nothing convenient about you.”
Live wires uncoil in my abdomen. “You are not going to fuck me into agreement.” The words come from nowhere and shock me.
“Is that a dare?” His voice is unfairly low, gravelly, and sexy.
“No,” I whisper, very much afraid I’ll lose that one.
He snaps the sides of my panties and yanks them free. “Smart girl. Now be a good girl.”
I shouldn’t like those words. Nope. Not at all. Yet my thighs dampen. I meet his gaze, my eyes wide.
He slides a finger inside me easily. Way too easily. I’m wet for him that quickly. “Don’t be frightened.”
Why not? He’s terrifying. This hold on me is unreal, and I like control. Formeto have control. “I-I don’t want a fast and temporary marriage.”
He stills, his finger still inside me. “Temporary? There’s nothing temporary about us. This is for good, Rosalie. I’m never letting you go.” Another finger slides in, stretching me, and a low hum of pleasure comes from deep in his chest.
I try not to move against him and fail. Even though the windows are tinted, I look wildly around, hoping nobody sees us.
“I’ll give you the wedding of your dreams once I’m back in control at work,” he rumbles, releasing my hand to palm my breast through my blouse and bra. His hand is wicked hot.
I attempt to focus but my bitch of a body is moving against his fingers, not comprehending the seriousness of this moment. “It’s not the wedding, Alexei,” I gasp, vulnerability weakening my voice. Not entirely the wedding, anyway. “Marriage is for real.”
“We’re for real.” He rips open my blouse and flicks the center clasp of my bra, which flings open. “Ride my fingers, Rosalie.”
I swallow, already doing just that. “No.”
His smile is quick. “All right.” He releases the button on his pants and unzips. “Take me out. Now.”
I obey before the neurons in my brain can fire reason through me, reaching for him with both hands and freeing him from the boxers. He’s thick and hard, pulsing against my hands. His fingers slide out of me, and he grips both of my hips, lowering me onto him. The fullness shocks me for a moment, and I grab his shoulders, feeling the bandage beneath one. “Sorry.”
“Never be sorry.” His gaze dropping, he releases my hips and scratches his nails down both of my breasts on either side of my nipples.
