Reaching him, I cross my arms over my chest, staring him down. “I don’t like you roaming around my home without permission.”
The force of seeing him unbalances me. Eyes locked, we keep each other hostage, tension sizzling so hot, it’s a wonder neither of us bursts into flames.
“I’m your husband, Zara. Like it or not, I can come and go as I please.”
“Not here.”
“Let me guess, it’s here you brought your lover boy.”
This asshole. I said I wouldn’t love him, but I think I will hate him like no one else.
Just to rile him up, I grin. “I lost my virginity to him here.”
His eyes set on the waterfall as if he knows that it happened in the grotto behind it. “It must have been quite uncomfortable.”
He won’t ruin one of my cherished memories. Even if I don’t remember his face, I remember tidbits—my body’s reaction, myheart latching onto him as my soul mate. Which he was. My brain erased him, but my soul could never forget.
I get in his face and under his intense gaze, goose bumps pepper my skin. “I gave him all my firsts.”
“And I’ll have all your lasts.”
That sounds even more important, doing something funny to my insides that I can’t comprehend. I refuse to entertain that thought.
“My aim is impeccable. Don’t make me shoot you. I can play a widow well and with your line of work...”
The threat dangles between us, but it doesn’t faze him. Gripping my chin, he lowers his face to me, whispering above my mouth, “Postpone that until you give me a child.”
The ghost of his mouth causes my lips to tingle. “Why is that so important? You could get anyone pregnant.”
“I want you,” he says with such resolution it makes my heart flutter.
“I’m not ready to become a mother.”
“Then be ready to keep those feelings bottled and postpone thoughts of killing me until afterward,” he says, caressing the contour of my lips, evoking a hunger that ravages my insides. For his poisoned kisses. For his fiery touch. For more.
Thick silence falls. Just as quickly, our riling up fades into the background.
The sun lowers, casting an orange, violet light on the lake, calling me toward it.
I palm his chest, intent on pushing him away, but the strong beating organ soothes me, calming my frayed thoughts. So strange.
“Why did you come?”
“I missed my wife,” he says matter-of-factly.
I roll my eyes at him, but my voice loses the hardness, the desire to fight with him evaporating. “Are you staying?”
“For the night. I have a meeting tomorrow.”
“Brief visit then. Good.” A pang hits my chest, betraying my true desire.
“I would cross the globe to see you for a few minutes,” he says, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.
Surely, his eyes are pure witchcraft, putting a spell on me. I open and close my mouth, not knowing how to react to that when he drops his arm and says low, “Fuck.”
I feel the loss of his touch instantly, chilling me. There’s a resonance between us. I sense the connection. It’s so potent, no wonder I can’t stay long in his presence before feeling overwhelmed, torn apart between the compulsion to give in and stay as far away as possible.
I slip my hand into his, and he holds on to it with all his might. His touch anchors me. “You say you accept my past, but you don’t. You can’t. You’re not the sharing type, Vian.”
