This woman belongs to me. I keep repeating the thought in my brain and out loud, specifically to her, and I know I sound like some sort of caveman who beats his chest with his fists, but fuck.
She brings out a primitive side to me I didn’t know I had. And I keep thinking about it because it keeps hitting me over and over again, what I’ve done.
What we’ve done.
I got married. To a woman I didn’t know, but I’m starting to actually like.
Yes, before the wedding I had those protective urges surge up that made me demand we move in together, but that was different. I just wanted to get her away from her father. I’m the type of guy who wants to protect people. I’ve run to the rescue of my little sister countless times. I help out where I can. I like feeling useful.
Considering I’m the second son and the obviously favored child of my mother, I never felt particularly useful growing up. I was just there. Yet another Constantine among many.
Winston eventually gave me my shot at Halcyon and I proved to him I could be an asset to the company. I agreed to marry a stranger to help the family—and Charlotte. She needed to get out of her situation and I didn’t mind being the one to assist.
Even if it costs me my relationship freedom. Hell, before we got married, she mentioned more than once she’d run away, and eventually, I could divorce her. Or we could even have it annulled. Her leaving would break all sorts of clauses in the contract and her father would probably have to pay my mother an outrageous amount of money, but would it really matter to him, beyond the humiliation? Not like the payment would hurt him.
The man is worth billions.
At least Charlotte would be free.
But as I stare at her while she scoops up ceviche with a giant tortilla chip, shoving it into her mouth and humming her approval, I don’t know if I want her to run away from me anymore.
I want to keep her.
Exhaling, I reach for my drink and slam it down, needing the alcohol to clear my head. I’m thinking like a crazy man. I can’tkeepher. She’s not something I can own, not really. Charlotte is a human being with thoughts and feelings and opinions who can exert her free will in any way she wants. I may get all territorial with her, but in the end, I will never make her do something she doesn’t want to do.
Like stay with me.
If she hates me that much, if she feels the need to flee that strongly, I’ll let her go.
I’m not a dick.
“You’re so quiet tonight,” she observes.
I glance up to find her watching me, her blue eyes wide and unblinking. Swear to God her hair is blonder and her eyes are brighter against her golden skin. That pink dress fits her to perfection and my gaze drops to her chest. The tops of her tits. I want to touch her there. Kiss her there.
“Are you tired?” she asks when I still haven’t said anything.
“A little,” I admit.
The disappointment is clear on her pretty face. She’s not wearing much makeup, which I prefer. She was beautiful at our wedding, but I like her natural. With her guard down and her face clean. Her lips are pink and glossy and I think that’s the only cosmetics she has on.
“You’ll probably want to go to bed early,” she says.
I stare at her. She must be out of her mind.
“Probably not.”
A smile curves her lips and she grabs another tortilla chip, dunking it into the ceviche before she pops it into her mouth. “Tell me about cars,” she says after she’s swallowed.
Unease filters through me and I shift in my seat. No one else cares about me and cars. I raced in secret, never telling my mother or siblings. Winston found out by accident after I quit, and he was furious. Claimed I had a million-dollar life insurance policy on my head and our enemies could’ve found out and killed me.
I couldn’t help but think hey, at least they could’ve gotten a cool mill for my death, but I decided that wouldn’t be the best thing to say to my brother at the time.
“What do you want to know?”
“How you started street racing. That’s so—random.” She wrinkles her nose, looking adorable. “Though after watching you surf earlier, I’m realizing that you enjoy participating in…reckless activities.”
“Aw, do you disapprove, wife?” I’m teasing her.