Then as if realizing my manipulation, her gaze turns hard, and she shoves at my chest. She’s not strong enough to move me, not by a long shot, but her fists will leave bruises on my chest from the effort.
“Let me go,” she complains, still trying to shove me away from her. “I can’t believe you brought up my father, brought up Sal, to make me feel bad enough that I’ll give in to your demands. What is wrong with you?”
There isn’t enough time in the world to go into that much detail. Instead, I lean in closer, caging her in with my elbows until our faces line up. “The sooner you realize I’ll stop at nothing to keep you safe, the easier this will be. Even if it means keeping you safe from yourself. Fighting is useless because it won’t change anything.”
Her arm sweeps up to push at me again, and in the process, she knocks something off the nearby table. It shatters to the floor around our feet.
A wracking exhale shudders out of her, and she stares over my bicep to inspect the table and the mess. When I think she’s about to duck down to clean it up, she leans farther and grabs another object, this time hurling it to the floor close to my feet.
I raise an eyebrow and watch her closely. “Feel better?”
She scowls, her eyelashes still wet from her tears. “What, you’re the only one who can throw a hissy fit and destroy everything?”
“No, but if you make me, I’ll restrain you until you calm down. Hurt me all you like, but if you do anything to hurt yourself, you’ll regret it.”
Her chin hikes up, and as she stares into my eyes, another piece of glass hits the floor in a crystalline clatter. “I have no intention of hurting myself. Why would I, when it’s so much more fun to hurt you…at least…when you finally let go of yourself and let me.”
Her barbs sink deep, drawing blood. My penchant for pain has never been something I regret, but with her, so perfect and beautiful, it feels wrong, out of tune with the symphony her body creates with mine. The pain I crave is a discordant harmony that isn’t meant to be played alongside it.
She moves her arm again, but this time, I catch her wrist and twist it behind her back, then the other to match. With both of her hands secured in one of my own, I press her into the wall, trapping both her hands and mine at the small of her back. “What are you doing?” she whispers, her tone no longer laced with the venom she’s been spitting for the past several minutes.
I use my other hand to scoop her cheek in my palm and tilt her head back to look into her eyes. “What does it look like, Angel? I said I’d restrain you.”
“If I hurt myself, but I told you I don’t plan to do that.”
I tighten my grip on her wrists until she gasps, but it’s not in pain. She’s warm, and a hot flush hits her cheeks the same moment she meets my eyes again. “Don’t even think about it.”
I’m already hard, but I won’t push her right now, not when she might take my balls for it later. “We are going back to the bedroom, and you’re going to see the doctor. He’s going to confirm that you are okay, and then I’m going to feed you and tuck you into bed.”
She grinds her teeth together. “I’m not a child who needs to be taken care of.” As if trying to illustrate her point, she arches her hips forward despite her earlier warning.
“I never said you were, Angel, but I’m your husband, and it’s my privilege to care for you. Let me do this. Men care for their pregnant wives every single day. Many of them find it charming and doting. Why are you fighting me so much?”
She scowls and wiggles her wrists to test my give. “Most men don’t have a doctor on staff and refuse to allow their wives to leave their home. You’re being overprotective, and while I enjoy that most of the time, right now, all I want is to see Rose.”
“Doctor first.”
“Then you’ll take me to her grave so I can speak to her?”
I give her a noncommittal noise and then accede. “That will depend on what the doctor has to say about your condition.”
She rolls her eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. When she stops straining against my grasp, I know I’ve won. I release her and gently turn her toward the hall so she doesn’t accidentally walk over the mess of broken glass.
We enter the room, and I send a quick text to the cleaning staff for the foyer and then to the doctor to join us in my bedroom.