Over the years, she’d talked to other adoptees and had had several in-depth conversations with her sister-in-law, Carrie, who was a family therapist. Joy would have sworn she had long ago made her peace with being relinquished by her birth mother. Wendy and Paul had given her a very stable, privileged, loving upbringing. Yes, there were times Joy had felt like an outsider in their family, but that wasn’t because of anything they had done. It was all in her own head.
Then Wendy had died, and Joy had felt so adrift she’d reached out to the agency, seeking a connection with her first mother only to learn that she was gone, too. They had refused to provide more than her name. That loss had hurt in a way Joy hadn’t expected.
That was when she had realized that she harbored a deep, hidden sense of rejection along with a heavy weight of obligation toward her adoptive family. They would never want her to feel that way, but it was there all the same.
As for her birth father, he’d remained a mystery. She had considered doing one of those ancestry tests, but learning Lorena was dead had been such a kick in the stomach, she hadn’t had the courage to look for her father. She’d also had all that drama with Todd messing with her head, then moved home. She had been struggling to survive ever since.
Now here was Axel claiming he would protect her from Otto.
Maybe, deep down, she had latched onto that promise because she was so fearful of another rejection. Maybe she was still looking for a connection beyond her adoptive family, one that didn’t come with tangled emotions of gratitude and indebtedness.
And maybe she had married Axel because she knew she wouldn’t see him again otherwise. She had been enthralled with him from her first glimpse of him. She didn’t want to be, but she was.
She had also thought this intense attraction was mutual, but he really seemed to be able to turn it on and off at will, which was painfully lowering.
The bathroom door opened. Axel emerged in a towel, bringing a spicy fragrance of aftershave with him, sending a punch of sensuality into her middle.
She was still sitting in the bed and pushed her legs toward the edge of the mattress. “You’re quick.”
“I can be,” he said laconically. “When the occasion demands.” He pressed a section of wall to open a closet, revealing a handful of suits.
She stared at his naked back. Had that been asexjoke?
She threw off the covers, starting to rise, but he turned to show her a small gift bag. He ambled toward her with his towel sitting low and loose and precarious across his hips.
“What—” She had to clear her dry throat as she was confronted by his stacked abs and the sprinkle of hair that arrowed down from his navel. She fixed her gaze on the black bag with its gold embossing and satin ribbons for handles. It matched the shop where they’d bought the wedding rings. “What is it?”
“A thank-you,” he said. “A sweetener, maybe.”
She hesitantly took it and peered into the bag, drawing out the black octagonal velvet box. Not another ring? She pried it open.
“Oh my God.” It was a ring. Two pear-shaped stones, an emerald and a yellow sapphire, sat at angles to each other on a coiled platinum band caked with small round diamonds. “Why…?” She looked up, up, up at him.
“I saw it when we were picking the wedding rings.” He rolled his smooth shoulder. “It reminded me of the way you wrap yourself around the pole.”
A sweetener. Do you want to join me in the shower?
“And how do you expect me to thank you?” she asked with a thrum of disenchantment, offering it back. “Wrap myself around your pole?”
“You already said no to that,” he reminded pithily. “So I took care of myself.”
The ball of heat that exploded within her was impossible to hide, especially becauseheknew she was picturing him erupting into his own soapy hand.
“I can also be quiet when the occasion demands,” he said with a mocking smirk. “But don’t feel you need to be. Shower’s all yours.”
“Oh shut up.” As if she would dothat, knowing he was out here listening! She dropped the ring and the box onto the rumpled blankets and stood.
He caught her arm before she’d taken a step.
She flung a glare of temper at him, as if she wasn’t looking for an excuse to wrestle with him across those tangled covers. As if his burnished skin didn’t make her mouth water and she wasn’t dying to know how the point of his nipple would feel against her tongue.
“Wear it to our meeting with Otto.” He turned into the jaded executive before her eyes, naked chest and slipping towel notwithstanding. “He’ll interpret that you’ve thanked me appropriately and know you’re firmly on my side. That you’re mine.”
His crude, possessive words crashed through her, inciting a flutter of intrigue but toppling her belief that they were anywhere near equal in this sea of sexual attraction that was drowning her.
“I really am just a pawn to you, aren’t I?” She shook off his grip and locked herself in the bathroom.
CHAPTER SEVEN
