He glanced up from his phone and the moleskin notebook lying open on his lap.
“I believe this is still my condo,” he said drily. Then he went back to whatever work he was doing.
Why had I thought I’d be safe at home? And why the hell was he even here? Knowing him, though, he had probably just stopped in for a quick break and a change of clothes. He’d probably head right back out in a few minutes and go meet one of his women on the side, if his behavior at the fundraiser was anything to go by.
I couldn’t believe I was actually hoping that was the case—that my husband was about to go out and cheat on me some more—but after what Gavin had told me today, I was nervous about spending an evening with Stefan. I was actually afraid of him and what he was capable of.
Maybe confronting him was the best course of action. Maybe he’d actually give me some answers. Except he never gave me answers, did he? My husband was a certifiable expert in hiding things, lying by omission, and refusing to engage with me honestly and respectfully.
On top of that, I was all too aware that we were here alone. Stefan was bigger than me, a lot bigger, and it would be all too easy for him to harm me if I said the wrong thing and pissed him off. My mind conjured up images of his green eyes flashing angrily, the low growl of his voice when I made him angry, the way he’d gotten rough with me in the past. Shoving me against walls, ramming his tongue down my throat. His hands fisting in my hair as he groaned into my mouth. The thought of it made my lower belly go hot and tight.
God damn, I’d just gone there. Ridiculous that being stuck at home with my husband could make me this anxious and this turned on at the same time. I didn’t want to think about it. Iwouldn’tthink about it.
In my room I set down my school bag and armload of books, taking a minute to scroll through the various menus on my take-out app and see if anything looked good. I kept an ear out for the sound of Stefan leaving, expecting to hear it at any moment.
Instead, I heard a knock at my door.
I debated ignoring it, but I wasn’t sure he’d just go away. And it was nice that he’d bothered to knock, considering that there wasn’t a lock on my door—I appreciated that he was at least trying to show some courtesy toward me.
“Yes?” I said, swinging the door open and leaning against the frame.
Stefan stood there, his jacket off, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his top button undone and his tie gone. My pulse shouldn’t have skipped at the sight of him, but it did. He looked incredibly handsome like this. Almost as handsome as he looked when he was completely put together.
“Gretna left us dinner,” Stefan said.
I stared at him. Dinner? Us? We were eating together?
“It’s Indian,” he added. “I just turned on the oven to reheat it.”
Without my permission, my mouth watered. I loved spicy curries, crispy hot samosas, and pillowy mounds of jasmine rice. It was the exact comfort food I’d been thinking of ordering to soothe myself tonight. Even now, I could smell the scent of it wafting into my bedroom.
The last thing I wanted to do was have dinner with my husband tonight, but I was too starving to make up an excuse and stay hidden in my room while he ate without me. So I followed him into the dining room. He had already set out the plates and utensils and when I sat down he went into the kitchen to bring the hot dishes out to the table.
I eyed everything—and Stefan—suspiciously. What was going on? Why wasn’t he at work? And since when did he come home early enough to eat one of Gretna’s meals with me?
He sat down across from me. For a moment, neither of us did anything but eye each other warily.
“Naan?” he asked. I nodded, and Stefan passed me the bread.
As I poured us each a glass of ice water from a crystal carafe, he carefully spooned rice, lentils, aloo gobi, and tikka masala onto my plate before serving himself. It was eerily quiet.
But the heavenly scent of exotic spices gave me a small sense of comfort, and with my first perfect bite of the soft, fragrant rice, I could feel my shoulders start to relax. Gretna usually leaned toward Italian and French cooking, but there was no denying that she was a master at Indian cuisine as well. As Stefan and I ate, however, I could feel the tension stretching out between us, the weight of all the unspoken words we hadn’t said since Saturday.
I thought about what Gavin had told me about Stefan showing up at the club. About how he had been possessive and intense. The accusation that Stefan had put something in my drink, or that he’d ordered his emissary to do it. Suddenly, despite the delicious food, my mouth went dry. I took a long drink of water, trying to soothe my now-tight throat.
HadStefan drugged me? What would he say if I looked him square in the eyes and asked if he’d been at the club the other night? If he’d stooped so low as to have me roofied in order to control me or punish me?
Glancing up at him, however, reminded me again how much bigger and stronger he was than me. With his shirt sleeves rolled up, I could see the taut muscles of his hands and arms. The bulge of his biceps were visible through his shirt, which stretched tight over his expansive chest.
He could easily dominate me.
The thought made me nervous and excited all over again. I had no self-control.
“How is it?” Stefan asked, gesturing at my plate.
“Good,” I said, looking down to avoid his eyes. What was wrong with me? My husband was possibly a very dangerous man, but my body was reacting to him as if this was a seduction.
I didn’t like thinking about it. Didn’t like thinking about the power he had over me. The spell he had cast.
