Page 71 of His Arranged Wife
"You scared me," she breathed.
"Sorry." He moved closer. "Are you okay?"
"Fine. Just thirsty."
"Liar." He took the glass from her shaking hands and set it on the counter. "You're terrified."
"I'm fine—"
"Stop saying that." His hands gripped her shoulders, firm but not painful. "Stop pretending you're fine when you're not."
"What do you want me to say?" Her voice broke. "That I'm scared? That knowing someone out there is thinking about me like that makes me want to crawl out of my skin? That I feel violated even though they haven't touched me?"
"Yes." His thumbs stroked her shoulders through the thin robe. "Say all of that. Be honest."
"Why? So you can tell me it's my fault? That I shouldn't have been so beautiful, so noticeable—"
"It's not your fault." The words were fierce. "None of this is your fault."
She looked up at him, surprised by the vehemence in his tone.
"Your beauty is yours," he said, his voice rough. "No one has the right to make you feel ashamed of it. No one has the right to fantasize about you without permission. And when I find whoever's doing this—" His grip tightened. "—they'll learn exactly what happens when someone disrespects what's mine."
"I'm not yours," she whispered. "You made that clear."
"The fuck you're not." He pulled her against his chest, his heart pounding under her ear. "You're my wife. You wear my name. You sleep in my bed. That makes you mine."
"Just possession, then. Like a car or a house."
"No." His hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. "Not like that. Never like that."
"Then what?"
He didn't answer with words.
Instead, he kissed her.
Not rough like usual. Not punishing or claiming.
Gentle. Almost tender. Like she was something precious that might break.
Her hands fisted in his bare skin, her body melting against his despite her brain screaming at her to protect herself.
When he pulled back, they were both breathing hard.
"Come to bed," he said.
"I can't sleep."
"Then don't sleep." His hand slid down her back. "Let me make you forget about whoever's out there. Let me remind you who you belong to."
It was a terrible idea. She was still hurt from last night, still raw from their fight, still in love with a man who couldn't love her back.
But she was also scared and lonely and desperate to feel something other than violated.
"Okay," she whispered.
He lifted her into his arms and carried her upstairs.
