I knew a cage wasn’t happening, so I didn’t bother paying much attention to that demand. Instead, I concentrated on the most outlandish lie he told. “I do not snore.”
“Oh, Amore, you most certainly do.”
The complaint made me feel a bit defensive. “I have never snored a night in my life, Royal.”
He tossed me his phone, a video on the screen ready to play. “I had a feeling you would say that.”
I hit play. My face filled the screen, my eyes closed, my hair a mess and—“I was tired, okay? Living with you is exhausting. So I snored one time.” Loudly, I might add. “I don’t think that’s a crime to humanity.”
He was patting his face with a towel as he approached me. “You know, although you snore like an elephant with a clogged trunk, I still think you’re mighty adorable when you sleep.”
He took a single finger and tapped my nose before disappearing into the closet. “Did you just . . . boop me?”
“Seems so,” came the muffled reply.
God, why is he so infuriating? Why couldn’t I be forced into a marriage with a simple guy who likes simple things and only ignites simple feelings? “You’re a jerk.” He didn’t answer, but judging by the rumbling coming from his closet, I suspected he heard me.
Instead of feeding his amusement, I chose to eat breakfast while he was getting ready to avoid any contact or unwanted conversation. The kitchen was amazing, which I never really appreciated when he gave me a quick tour. The dark woods and granite counters all sparkled and gleamed, and I couldn’t help but run my fingers over the smooth surface.
I sighed. I would love to cook in this kitchen, baking cookies and cakes. Which seemed sort of ironic, since my job was based around warding off the effects of sugars. I glanced around, seeing that I was alone before I pulled open the cabinets. The cookware was dreamy, all stainless steel and coppers and before I could think better of it, I was pulling out a heavy bottom pan and placing it on the gas stove, warming it up before I walked into the pantry.
Once the supplies were in my hand, I hadn’t really thought much about what I was doing until a spread of pancakes, bacon, and eggs lay on platters in front of me, and my husband watched silently from the doorframe a few feet away. “You cook?”
“Breakfast.” Actually, I cooked a lot more than breakfast, but I was keeping his expectations low.
“For me?” he raised an eyebrow as he questioned.
“For me. But I guess I can share the extras.”
He gave me a knowing nod as he walked to the coffee pot, taking out two mugs and filling them up with the liquid gold. “Cream and sugar?”
“Yes, please.” I carried the platter to the big wooden table. “Does Greta eat breakfast?”
Ugh. Dumb question asked out of nerves. Of course, she eats breakfast. He ignored the fact that my question was obvious. “She does, but she left earlier. She has her jogging groups on Fridays.”
Huh. The old woman was more active than I was, even at—I glanced at my watch—six ten in the morning. “Do you put a babysitter on her, too?”
“No one wants an old woman who curses like a sailor and can use a knife quicker than a trained operative.”
He sat the mug down in front of me, my hands instantly gravitating toward it. The warm stoneware inviting me to wrap my fingers around it and never let go. I inhaled deeply before taking a gulp of the warm slice of heaven. I hummed my approval as I took another sip. How the hell did he make it taste so damn perfect?
“So, you’re a coffee girl I take it.” He reached for his own mug.
“It speaks to my soul,” I confessed.
He picked up some bacon and snapped off a piece, popping it into his mouth. “Which part of your soul . . . the scorching, dark, bitter part or the sweet, light, tame one?”
Clever sir. “I like to think both parts call to me equally.”
He picked up his fork and cut into a pancake. “I must admit, I find both infatuating. These are pretty good.”
He licked his lips, and my eyes followed the movement. “Being raised by a father meant eating ramen noodles and mac and cheese. I learned quick.”
His eyes turned serious, and if I read correctly, sad. “How is your father?”
“Like you care.” I shoved food into my mouth to avoid talking about him.
He placed his fork down on his plate and stared at me thoughtfully. “I do care, Bianca. He’s your father. I know this is unconventional, and at one time, I might have ordered him dead, but truthfully, I don’t hate the guy. In fact, I’m sure we could be friends if given the chance. His debt to me is cleared; you’re more than welcome to bring him around.”
I felt a bit of guilt because, honestly, as much as I wanted to deny it, Royal had treated my father well. He put him up in an apartment, got him a job, and paid off his debts, all of which he didn’t have to do. He was actually generous, a rare quality in a man these days, and I felt that generosity made me that much more attracted and repelled by him. I wanted so badly to hate him, to not find his deep brown eyes enthralling, and his voice shiver-inducing.
He cleared his throat as he stood, then picked up his plate and put it in the sink. “I left something for you on the dresser. I hope you like it. I should be home tonight by dinner, and if my day goes as planned, I will stay. We have that business trip this weekend, plan accordingly.”
He leaned down enough to place a chaste kiss on my lips. A kiss that had me yearning for more, but not willing to ask. Maybe that was his plan? Did he want me to beg for him? “Oh, and Bianca?”
“Hmm?” I hummed my question.
“Get a damn cage for your beast.”
CHAPTER 14
ROYAL
Pulling back from her lips after lunch yesterday was the hardest thing I’d done in my life. I’d kissed girls, fucked them until they couldn’t walk, and they begged me to stop as they screamed for more, but nothing compared to the thrill that coursed through me when her soft lips touched mine.
It was electrifying, and although I intended it to only be a quick peck, she drew me in, rubbing her lithe body against mine in such a way that even the strongest of men would become weak. I wasn’t a god, even though many look to me as such. I was just an ordinary man, with ordinary weaknesses and ordinary needs. The moment that woman signed her name on a paper declaring she was mine, she became my need. All thoughts focused on claiming her—showing her I was serious—proving to her in all ways that count,. that we would be amazing together.
The thought that she was walking around without a ring, letting other men ogle her as if she was unattached didn’t settle well with me. I was possessive, a little too much so, I’d admit, but she was mine. She did say the vows and exchanged what had to be the world’s most chaste kiss on my lips, after all. I waited until the moment she pulled off the street before I had Veronica rearrange my schedule, then I went in search of a ring because she absolutely needed one on that pretty little finger of hers.
The funny thing about ring searching was that there apparently was no quick shopping trip. I thought I would be in and out in a matter of minutes, down a few thousand and up one happy wife. But the choices were something I never planned for. All women talk about is the larger the diamond, the happier they are, but seeing the atrocious-sized rings didn’t scream Bianca to me; they screamed high maintenance, fake, red nails, and apologetic shopping sprees.
There was nothing that whispered Bianca to me. In fact, they were her opposite. Bianca had to be the most low-key girl I’d met. She looked gorgeous after only spending fifteen minutes getting ready in the morning. She didn’t use fake nails because it’s a working hazard, and I didn’t think I’d seen her spend a dime on anything but our sandwiches the whole week we’d been together. Even though I wasn’t around much, I still would’ve noticed the bags that tend to pile up. She hadn’t even touched the credit card I left her.
It took me going to three stores before I found the one. It wasn’t a heavy five-carat diamond like
all the sales associates insisted she would love. But a one-carat beauty on white gold, with amethyst lining the band. I left fifteen minutes later, the teal box weighing down my pocket and lightening my heart.
When I came home that night, she was already asleep. She was out cold from her obviously exhausting day, and even though I tried to wake her, she didn’t so much as flutter her eyes. I figured I would give her the ring in the morning, but when she woke, I lost my nerve. One’s wife can’t say no to a wedding ring, could they? I didn’t want to find out, hell, I was fucking terrified to.
She left me while I was searching for clothes in my closet, and I used that time to take the ring box out of my drawer and place it on the jewelry chest in her closet. I stood back, staring at it, debating if maybe I should just take it back and pretend I never bought it at all. But the smell of bacon wafted from downstairs, drawing my attention to the kitchen, and even though I was standing there in a room alone, I couldn’t stop the fucking smile from taking over my face.
A few minutes later, I found her downstairs in the kitchen, looking absolutely adorable as she hummed to herself and made breakfast, completely unaware of my eyes on her. And they were everywhere on her, her breasts, her hips, her thighs, her ass—every damn part of her appealed to me—and I had to adjust my stance to be more comfortable.
Her eyes found mine, and they locked. “You cook?”
“Breakfast.” She looked a little shy.
“For me?” I asked, knowing damn well she made enough for me, but she would be too stubborn to admit it.
She looked thoughtful. “For me, but I guess I could share the extras.”
My girl didn’t disappoint me. I made her coffee, ate her food, listened as she talked, and the whole time I could only think about the ring I left her. I knew it was ridiculous. Why would I be nervous about it when we were already married? Then again, this marriage hadn’t really been her choice. She didn’t love me, although I wondered what it would feel like if one day she did. My mind knew what a business arrangement this was, but my heart, that little black thing I sometimes forgot I even owned, sputtered a little bit at the thought of her acceptance.
Having Bianca accept the ring, that measly piece of jewelry that I bought just for her, felt like her acceptance of me too. Like maybe, if she wore it, she’d be saying she’s willing to give this a full try and be my wife. I thought about it all through breakfast, the weight of the significance suffocating me, and when I left for work, I dared not speak a word about the box left for her, because I thought—I thought if I saw visible repulsion it might just ruin me.
CHAPTER 15
BIANCA
The ring Royal left me when he left this morning, weighed down my bag like chunks of cement. It was such an odd gesture, something so final and permanent for our measly arrangement. Wearing it seemed like I was committing myself to him, and even though we had a legally bound agreement, I just didn’t know if I wanted to commit myself on all levels.
It was at lunch when I received the text that the business meeting I was going to accompany him on was postponed until the following weekend. That was a relief. I would have gone out of obligation, but the tension I suddenly felt in his presence had my nerves on edge.
I went the whole day at work pretending I didn’t have the weight of the ring pulling me down when in reality, it was all I could think about. I did procedures, exams, and reviewed Xrays, pretending like my world wasn’t changing when it was actually moving so fast, I could do nothing but hold on tight and pray I didn’t fall.
By the evening, I had actually overworked my mind to the point I was happy to go home, even if the home wasn’t my own. I was exhausted, my temples throbbed, and when I was greeted by complete silence, I couldn’t help the relief I felt. Kicking off my shoes, I scooped them up before walking straight up the stairs to my bedroom.
Peter was lying in the middle of the bed, his little nose twitching. “Hey baby, mama looked forward to seeing you.”
I leaned down, rubbing my nose against his, my fingers running through his fur. “Daddy looked forward to seeing you, too.”
I jumped, my whole body going rigid at the sound of the voice behind me. My back straightened as I turned, Royal’s knowing smirk taunting me. He was freshly showered, his fresh dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, displaying some well-formed arms. I swallowed—hard. “I didn’t know you would be here.”
In truth, I never expected it. He tended to come home late and left early. “Work got a bit messy, I needed a shower.”
He didn’t have to elaborate on what exactly a bit messy was. I could tell by the swollen, bruised knuckles that whatever it was, it wasn’t pleasant. “Are you staying for dinner?”
I mentally begged him to say no, but instead, his knowing smile appeared. “Are you cooking dinner for me, Amore?”
Fuck. No. I just wanted to stay cuddled up to my bunny and pretend that today had not happened at all. That I didn’t carry the weight of his offering around in my bag all day, debating if my lust for this man outweighed my potential hate for his existence. It shouldn’t be a decision, not really. Although he owned me physically, why would I give him the approval to own me fully? Yet, I couldn’t decide, and I was blaming it on the lust, on my desire to see every part of this powerful man crumble to my will, like women and men both seemed to crumble at his feet.
“I wasn’t planning on even eating dinner.” It was true, I was exhausted, and nothing sounded more appealing than crashing.
He frowned like he didn’t approve of my confession. “Then why ask if I was staying?”
“I panicked, okay. I came home, saw my sweet innocent rabbit, and thought, ah . . . I’m going to lay right here and crash for the night. And suddenly, you’re there, and I was caught off guard. I didn’t expect you to be home, and I blurted out whatever to make it less awkward. But guess what?” I paused, waiting to see if he would guess.
“You made it more awkward.” He made the confession with a straight face, but the twinkle in his dark eyes did nothing to hide his amusement.
I nodded my agreement,. “I made it more awkward.”
“Then, I guess I’m cooking dinner. Dinner’s at eight.” He turned on his heels and left, completely ignoring me as I deepened my voice and mocked, dinner’s at eight.
The mere statement reminded me of the first night here. Had it really been less than a week? It felt like a lifetime. No, it had to be a lifetime. I waited until I heard his feet hit the tile on the floor below us before speaking to Peter again. “He isn’t your daddy, baby. Don’t let him confuse you.”
I kissed his little nose before I even realized how ridiculous I sounded, then I pushed off the bed and stalked to my closet to put my heels away and get out some clothes. If my husband—I tried not to choke on that thought—wanted to feed me at eight, it gave me plenty of time to shower, paint my toes, and maybe give myself an impromptu spa night.
Grabbing my fuzzy robe, some fleece pants, and a shirt, I left my closet. Turning on the water, I stripped off my clothes while waiting for it to get hot, then stepped under the heavenly spray. The shower alone was enough to make me never want to move back to my poor, old, little house. Done in one single, solid slab of slate, it had shower heads cascading down in multiple directions, leaving water to fall onto my body in a soothing caress. I held nothing against my poor, single-spray tile shower, with grout that I was sure at one time used to be white, but now held a murky brown color, but water spraying from every side of me definitely was the way to live.
Forcing myself out of the shower, I wrapped my hair in one of Royal’s luxurious towels—another plus of living here—before drying off and putting on my robe. With time to spare before dinner, I could paint my toes, do a mask, and if I had a few minutes to spare, I would definitely be blow drying my hair.
With my face mask applied and in the process of working its magic, I pulled out a box of nail polish I had previously placed under the sink. I chose a dark blue, which may or may not
have been a reflection of my spouse’s name, but I wasn’t going to let my desire to repel him hinder my desire to be pretty. Besides, he wouldn’t notice my toes anyway.
I had just put the lid on my polish and adjusted the little foam spacers between my toes when I heard a throat clearing. I jumped. Damn it! That was twice in one evening that he snuck up on me, and I wasn’t too pleased about it. I looked up from where I sat on the floor in the bathroom, for the first time really taking in his height. I lowered my gaze down his body then swallowed hard when I realized I may have gone too low. It was too late now; I could hardly peel my eyes away from his thick, powerful thighs and the thought of what would most likely be an amazingly sized package.
“It’s as impressive as you might think,” he offered when I still hadn’t looked away.
Ugh! Why did this man alter my brain cells? “If I let myself think about you or your—” I stumbled at my wording, “—member, in any capacity, I would be assuming it’s subpar, your reassurance on how impressive you are only solidifies my thoughts that you obviously are compensating.”
He took a step forward, and I forced my head back so I could look past his towering height to his face. “I could show you.”
“I’d rather you not,” I informed him as my body nearly shivered at the thought.
He reached down, his long fingers skimming a piece of hair that had fallen out of my towel before he pushed it behind my ear. “It’s only a matter of time.”
My skin still burned from where his fingers accidentally grazed me as he touched my hair. “You sure are cocky, Russo.”
“I am, Amore. But, I see you weakening.” He stood straighter, looking down at me again, “I could have any woman I wanted, you have to know that. Money, power, the looks—I’m everything a woman craves.”
Arrogant bastard. “Then why don’t you?”
“Because I don’t want a faceless female to empty myself into. I don’t want to hand over my money, to exert my power knowing they will not dispute.” His eyes bore down on me, nearly paralyzing me in place.
Resisting Royal (The Repayment Series) Page 7
