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Unable to take this psychological torture any longer, I shout in his face, “Then what the fuck do you plan to do with me!”
Still gripping my wrists, his eyes nearly burn me with their heat as he growls, “Make you my wife.”
There’s no way I heard him right.
“What?!” I gasp.
Using his grip to pull me closer, we’re nearly nose to nose when he repeats, “I plan to make you my wife, Eden.”
What the fuck.
Seriously, what the fuck?
“You want to marry me?” I squeak because I still can’t believe I haven’t just had a fucking brain aneurysm.
“More than anything,” he insists as he stares at me meaningfully. “Hence all the preparations.”
I try to jerk my wrists out of his grip. “You’re… you’re insane!”
A slow smile creeps across his lips as his fingers tighten around me. “Yes, I’m glad you noticed. But that doesn’t change any of my plans.”
Utterly speechless, I shake my head back and forth. Partly in shock. Partly in refusal.
This can’t be happening.
It can’t be real.
Dropping my wrists, he moves quick.
One arm wrapping around me, the other lifts, his hand going to the back of my head to hold me in place. “I know you feel it, Eden. Feel this thing between us.”
Locked tight against his body, his chest against my breasts. His thighs hard beneath my thighs.
My first instinct is to deny I feel anything.
But it would be a lie.
Every little nerve inside me is buzzing with tingling awareness of him.
His heat.
His smell.
Fuck, hispresencealone ripples across my skin.
Urging me closer.
There is something between us. Something I’ve been fighting. Something I can’t fucking explain.
But, “It’s not enough to get married!”
“Is it not?” he throws back. “Do you think I’ve ever felt this for another woman?”
I shake my head in more denial. “How would I know? I know nothing about you.”
Another lie.
I know what was in his file. I know he’s a murderer. I know he may have had a hand in the death of my father. But nothing about his love life.
