Page 41 of Outcast’s Vow

Or maybe it did...

“I’ll sleep in our bed, Baptiste.”

There’s an abrupt rise in his chest.

“Lead the way, wife.”

I gulp.

My mind is full of him as I take him to the bedroom. I smell nothing but his cologne. His voice is the only thing I hear. The image of his tense jaw when I dropped my dress is all I see.

I go into the bathroom to undress for bed.

Baptiste is standing in just his briefs when I re-enter. He nods at the mattress.

“You first,” he rumbles in his silky-smooth baritone.

I swallow my nerves and gently slide into bed as Baptiste watches me.

And then he makes his move.

But he doesn’t touch me.

Even across the gigantic bed, I can’t think about anything other than how close we are, and how I can feel the heat of his body, and his scent on my lips. And yet we’re still not touching. All I want is to be shown even a minuscule bit of the simmering desire lurking beneath the surface.

I pride myself on my dignity. On my poise. And I’ve been so good at it my entire life that it’s practically become my personality. But with Baptiste Tremblay it’s like I want to tear down my dignity and my poise and my manners and just let loose. He drives me insane.

I think of how we held hands during our wedding ceremony. How he looked at me as if I was everything to him. How I was so easily able to crush him by dropping my wedding dress like I did. That hopelessness in his eyes as he saw what he couldn’t touch.

In the bed, I turn to face him. He turns to face me.

And I begin to wonder who’ll break first.

Because I’m right at the edge of doing something incredibly undignified.

“Goodnight, wife,” Baptiste says evenly, puncturing my fantasy.

And then he turns away from me. The sheets ruffle. I lose sight of those beautiful eyes.

And there it is. That impossible feeling.

Disappointment.

What the hell am I doing right now?

Oh. I’m truly, undeniably, irreparably fucked, aren’t I?

17

SYLVIE

“I want you to enjoy yourself today.”

I raise a curious eyebrow at my husband’s declaration.

“Enjoy myself how?”

We’re having breakfast over the counter in the chalet’s kitchen. Baptiste arranged a full meal, cooked by a chef, to be waiting for us when we woke up. I stuff myself to the brim with eggs and toast and freshly brewed coffee, my appetite ravenous after yesterday’s thrills.