Page 125 of Captive Ruin

“Then I’m going to kiss my bride,” I tell her. “And then I’m going to take her back home, and we’re going to have a little chat about how badly she’s behaved.”

“What about how badly you’ve behaved?” she throws right back at me.

I chuckle, and kiss my wife.

And she opens to me.

Twenty-Nine

Amelia

“Put me down, damn it.” I pound on Van Wyk’s back, but it doesn’t have any effect.

“It’s customary for a husband to carry his bride over the threshold.”

“Not over his shoulder!” I struggle, cheeks flaming. Fournier grins as he watches, but at least Tony and Jorge are more interested in perimeter security or whatever it is they’re staring at. I only care that they’re ignoring my humiliation. Pretending to, anyway.

“All right, we’re inside. You win. Put me down, Van Wyk!”

“Lukas,” he replies, carrying me farther inside. “You’re Van Wyk too, now.”

He’s right, damn it. I’ve taken his name. I’m married.

It still hasn’t truly sunk in. Maybe because it hardly felt real.

“Linda,” he says cordially as we walk through the entrance hall.

Oh, God, not her as well.

“Mr. Van Wyk, sir,” she replies in surprise as we pass her. “Miss Anderson.”

He stops, turning. I get a view of the wall. “It’s Mrs. Van Wyk.”

“It’s Amelia,” I correct.

“I’m so sorry. Mrs. Van Wyk. Of course.”

Everyone’s ignoring what I say. That’s pretty standard in this house.

Van Wyk carries on, facing me toward Linda again. She’s watching with wide eyes and a hand over her mouth. “Congratulations,” she says, so softly I barely catch it.

Van Wyk takes the stairs and I make a grab for the banisters, trying to stop him. “Fournier is still here. We have guests.”

His hand comes down hard on my ass, making me gasp. “Quit struggling.”

“Never,” I hiss back at him. “Not until the day you start taking no for an answer.”

“I’ll take no for an answer the day you actually mean it.”

“What? I’ve meant it every time.”

“Really?” His hand slides up the back of my thigh, beneath my dress, palm caressing my ass, his thumb slipping beneath my thong to probe rudely between my cheeks. I can’t help but writhe at his touch. “Hmm, good choice of underwear.”

Linda’s still in earshot, and my cheeks flame in embarrassment even as Van Wyk reaches the landing, turning the corner and finally blocking her from sight.

We reach the bedroom and he kicks the door open, strides into the center of the room, and finally sets me on my feet. I’m unsteady as my balance takes a moment to reassert itself, and he’s behind me, working the zipper of my dress down before I’ve even realized what he’s doing.

He tugs my sleeves from my shoulders, hard enough that somewhere a seam rips.