Page 45 of King of Ashes
Standing, we move into the living room. Unease swarms in my belly, hornets buzzing, ready to strike me dead at any moment. I drop onto the sofa, torn between sorting through my past and this chance at building a family.
Stop with the nonsense.You’re barely married, no need to rush through it.
A woman enters, and after a quick introduction, she pulls a few things from her purse and lays them on the coffee table. As she disinfects the spot on my arm, my chest hollows, and I seek his eyes.Why does it feel like a loss?
Why does my inner voice urge me against it? Why can’t my brain and my heart make peace for one damn second?
A pinch later, she says, “The shot will cover you for the next three months.”
It’s the right thing to do. We have time. Why hurry through marriage when we agreed on a lifetime together? I don’t understand the urgency.
After thanking her, Vian accompanies her to the elevator. I am numb, barely registering him getting on his knees and taking my hands in his. “Talk to me.”
I offer him a small, soft smile. “You’re asking for everything.”
“I’m asking to be there for my wife.”
“It’s still too soon, too fast…” Not to mention how intense my husband is and how intensely I am beginning to feel for him.
He shakes his head and squeezes my hands, adamantly refuting my response. “No. What you’re trying to do is keep asafe distance. I can guarantee you it won’t work. Not for us. Keep lying to yourself, baby, but reality will be even harder to digest.”
I shoot up and pace, trying to dispel my restlessness. “Yes, because you’re shoving it down my throat.”
“I have something else I could shove there,” he says deceptively low. “Would you prefer that instead? Don’t bother answering. I know you would.”
I come to an abrupt stop and suck in a breath. “Excuse me. Who do you think I am?”
He crosses his arms over his chest, looking me dead in the eyes. “A needy slut for my cock.”
I gasp. This man is something else, I swear.
“I think you need some fresh air.” I leave him standing there as I change into beige linen shorts, a top, and a matching vest, then slip into flats.
He follows as we get ready in stiff silence, the trousers and button down shirt tailor-made to fit his sculpted body. Naked or dressed, he looks like a perfect male specimen. Lucky me.
He rolls his lower lip between his teeth, sending me a heated gaze. “You look stunning.”
“I think you’d much prefer me naked and on my knees, sucking you off,” I say, inflicting as much annoyance as I can convey.
He slides his hands into his pockets, the corners of his mouth turning into a lazy smile. “I won’t lie and deny it, but so would you.”
He is so crass, saying the most appalling things that strangely make me hot rather than bothered.
Guards follow us discreetly as we exit the building; however, the only truly dangerous man around me is my husband.
11
ZARA
Two things have been running through my head since I returned home: Vian and the flash of memory. Both threaten my focus, but I’ve learned how to hide behind an impenetrable mask.
I can’t slip. Not in front of my men, and certainly never before customers. Dealing with men who would enjoy nothing more than finding one crack in my armor to tear me apart has taught me to become a chameleon.
After finalizing the deal, I close my eyes, replaying that flash of memory. He had his back to me, nothing new there, as I scribbled on his neck. We lay on a dark green velvet sofa, the large French windows offering breathtaking light, sunrays dancing on the hardwood floor. The tattoo was my idea, a way of telling everyone he belonged to me and I belonged to him. The memory causes raw pain, and tears stream down my cheeks.
I try to remember more, but my brain releases nothing else, feeding me only crumbs. Still, it’s better than nothing.
Vian’s presence is the key. It was his tattoo that caused that flash, but why, damn it?
