We watch him disappear into the crowd, and the moment he's out of earshot, I turn to face Asher fully.
"Did you do something?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about." He reaches for a champagne flute from a passing server, the picture of innocence except for the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth.
"Asher." My pulse hammers in my throat. "Did you— Richard's lawsuit. That's not just karma."
"Isn't it?" He takes a sip, those cold eyes never leaving mine. "Perhaps someone simply helped facilitate the proper channels. Made sure the right lawyers knew about the right women. Ensured certain NDAs were deemed unenforceable."
My breath catches. "You can't just?—"
"Can't what? Make phone calls? Suggest certain law firms might want to take a high-profile case pro bono? I'm a very wealthy man, Grace. I know a lot of people." His hand returns to my back, thumb tracing small circles against my dress. "And I take care of what's mine."
Those last words make my knees weak.
"Now, what was this with you and James Rock, hmm?"
Surprise flickers through me. "What do you mean…"
"You were over here talking to him for ten minutes."
A smile pulls at my lips. "Are you…jealous?"
Asher scoffs. "You're mywife.The only man you should be talking to for that long is me."
I can’t help but laugh. "That's archaic."
"Maybe I'm archaic."
I step closer to him, running my hands over the lapels of his tux. "He was just being nice."
Asher's nostrils flare. "I don't want him to be nice to you."
That has the smile on my cheeks growing. "Is it so terrible that someone wasniceto me?"
Asher goes very still. When he speaks, his voice drops to that dangerous tone that makes my stomach flip and my pulse race.
"Yes. It would be terrible. Because you'remine."
The low and feral growl sends electricity straight to my core. Before I can say anything else, his hand finds my arm, and he's guiding me through the crowd with firm purpose.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere private." His voice is tight with barely leashed control.
He leads me down a hallway and into a coat closet, flipping the lock behind us. The small space is dim, intimate, filled with expensive furs and the scent of cedar and sea salt from his cologne.
"Asher, what are you?—"
He backs me against the wall, one hand braced at the side of my head, the other trailing his fingers down my throat. They trace over the pearls of my choker before pulling it taut, the beads pressing against my throat and reminding me of the symbol that I belong tohim.
"Tell me you're mine," he demands without being callous.
My eyes widen at where I think this is leading. "This is insane. Someone could?—"
"Tell me." His voice drops an octave ,to that commanding tone that always makes me melt. "Tell me you belong to me, Grace."
Heat floods my veins as his body cages me in. The rational part of my brain screams that this is jealousy, possessiveness, everything unhealthy about desire. But my body doesn't care about rational thoughts right now. My body only cares about the man pressed against me, about the way his voice makes me ache with need.
