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She grits her teeth. “Please, may I get up now, sir?”
“Of course.”
Wrapping my hands around Cara’s tiny waist, I pick her up and deposit her on her feet before me. I frown as I realize something’s not quite right. “You aren’t wearing shoes.”
“Uh, no. There weren’t any for me to put on. I assumed it was some sort of power play.”
That makes me laugh. “Cara, I don’t need you barefooted to assert my dominance.”
“So, it was just an oversight?”
“Yes, I didn’t even consider shoes. Do you want me to get someone to fetch you a pair before we go to the priest?”
She puts her hands on her hips and fixes me with what I imagine she thinks is an intimidating glare. “I am not marrying you, Alexander.”
At any other time I might find her stubbornness cute, but the priest is waiting, and he’s on a schedule. Even a large donation to his church won’t persuade him to hang around all night.
“Yes, Cara, you are, because if you don’t, I will strip you naked, wrap a bow around you and send you to Jason Henry, who has some interesting plans for his new bride.” I suppress a grin of satisfaction as she shudders. “So choose wisely. Will it be me or him?”
Chapter6
Cara
When I was a little girl and I imagined my wedding, I didn’t think I’d be choosing the lesser of two evils to marry. I go through the motions, speaking vows and accepting rings without really considering how momentous this is. I tell myself that if I need to get out of the marriage later, I can. Somehow I manage to ignore the nagging voice that tells me I’m deluding myself if I think Alexander will ever let me go. As he promises to honor me until death parts us, I get the impression he means it.
As soon as the ceremony is over and the marriage documents are signed and witnessed, Alexander takes my hand and leads me upstairs.
“Don’t we have a cake to cut?” My tone drips with sarcasm.
“You can have all the cake you want once the marriage is consummated.”
If I was in any doubt about why he’s dragging me, caveman style, along the corridor, I’m not now. My stomach turns somersaults and my heart beats faster. It’s not fear I’m experiencing. Well, I am a little bit afraid of what lies ahead, but it’s not all I feel. I’m excited as well. There’s something about Alexander’s dominance I crave.
He leads me into a large bedroom. Its walls are a deep shade of burgundy and the furniture is dark, masculine. The bed has a wooden frame, and I’d have to be blind not to notice the brass rings strategically placed on the headboard. My new husband, it seems, likes to play. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Curious, more than anything, I think.
“Take the dress off.”
I raise my eyebrows at Alexander’s command. “We’ve been here before.”
“Yes, and you obeyed immediately the last time.” He looks at me as if I’m a puzzle he’s trying to work out. “Why was that?”
I shrug. “I didn’t feel like I had a choice.”
Alexander reaches out and curves a hand around my cheek. “You like that, don’t you? When you don’t have a choice?”
Heat rises to my cheeks. Has he worked me out so quickly? I do find it exciting when a man takes control, tells me what to do. “Maybe.”
“Then you’re in luck because I like to be in charge. Now strip.”
Reaching behind me, I lower the zipper of the dress just enough to shimmy out of it. I’m not wearing anything beneath the gown, so it takes only a few seconds before I’m standing in front of Alexander, completely naked. His eyes rake over me appreciatively, but he doesn’t offer me any compliments to put me at ease. Instead, he just strips off his jacket and removes his shirt. He looks so incredible standing there in just his kilt, I almost ask him to leave it on. As he kicks off his shoes, he nods toward the bed.
“Lie down, legs spread. I want to see what’s mine.”
His brusque instruction makes my stomach flip. I hurry to obey, climbing onto the bed and lying at its center. I part my legs but, rather than passively waiting for him to take me, I prop myself up on my elbows to watch him undress. He pulls off his socks and then his hand goes to the buckle of his kilt. Smirking as he realizes I’m almost drooling as I watch him, he unfastens it and slowly unwraps the pleated Shaw tartan from around his waist. He drops the kilt to the floor and I glimpse him in all his glory for the first time.
His cock is magnificent, long and thick, but I don’t stare at it for long. My eyes travel upwards, over the taut muscles of his abdomen, to his broad chest. It’s littered with scars, some which appear surgical and others the result of trauma. One looks to have been caused by a bullet. There are two similar puckered marks on his shoulder.
“Are you repulsed by my scars?” Alexander almost dares me to say yes.
