Resisting Royal (The Repayment Series)

by Delilah Mohan

  I swallowed hard. “What do you want?”

  Not like his answer mattered, but I felt like he wanted me to ask it. “You. I want you, Amore. You could have all that I have in this world, but you don’t want to take it. I give it all to you willingly, not because you’re a pretty face, although I will openly admit that your eyes are quickly becoming my weakness, but because you’re mine. Not just on paper, although that helps, but your body, your mind . . . they belong to me.”

  Like hell they do. “Do your pretty words work with all the females?”

  “Obviously none that matter,” he mumbled under his breath as he lowered onto his knees in front of me, the black slacks he wore wrinkling against the marble floor. “How long do you think you can play this game, Bianca? Pretending like you don’t want me when your body and eyes scream for me to take you?”

  God, I hated how right he was. I hated that I wanted him with every fiber of my being just as much as I wanted to repel him away from me. I didn’t get a choice in regards to marrying him, so I was going to stay strong in the choices I did get to make within the marriage.

  I squared my shoulders back, not letting his eyes make me cower like they no doubt did to others. “I’ve never pretended that I wasn’t attracted to you, Russo. But that doesn’t mean I’m giving you my body.”

  His eyes flicked down my robe, which I realized now was slightly gaped, before coming back up to my gaze, his fucking arrogant smirk plastered on his face. “I’m willing to bet that I’ll have your body sooner than you think, Bianca.”

  I snorted. Out loud. A completely unladylike sound. “Doubtful.”

  He leaned in, and before I could even register what was happening, his soft lips were on mine, my body firm against his chest as he kissed me. An utterly searing, body-weakening, mind-numbing kiss. Fire. I felt it, and I despised the fact that once again, he was right. He was right about just how much my body wanted his. Just how weak I was near him. Just how out of control I was in this situation.

  He pulled back, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Doubtful.” He repeated my earlier statement with heat knowingly dancing in his eyes. “Dinner’s ready, Mrs. Russo. See you in five.”

  I watched his well-formed ass walk away and had to fight to control my breath. Well, that went well, I mentally scowled. His lips touched mine for a mere second, and I was ready to rub my bare thighs against his clothed ones, seeking relief from the pressure that suddenly had become too unbearable.

  Shit. This was bad. This was so, so very bad. I blew out a breath and forced myself to stand on legs that felt like wet, soggy noodles. But if I thought a searing kiss and pulsing core was terrible, it was nothing compared to how I felt when I looked in the mirror and realized it had all taken place while I casually wore a lime green, grass-smelling, face mask.

  CHAPTER 16

  ROYAL

  I chuckled to myself as I plated the food, dividing the simple pasta dish between three plates. My little wife looked so adorable in her oversized frumpy robe and her chalky green mask. I didn’t miss the royal shade freshly painted on her toes, either. I was getting to her; there was no other explanation. None I would accept anyway.

  Even with her hair in a towel, her face covered in clay, and the giant robe she wore, I wanted her. I wanted to pull the flimsy tie on the robe and push it off her shoulder, exposing the luscious curves that taunted me through the robe’s gap. Fuck, if she wasn’t the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  The most beautiful thing I’d ever seen who wasn’t wearing my ring. That little detail didn’t evade my notice and it stung a little. But I didn’t blame her. I knew I might have twisted her hand into this relationship. Okay, there was no might about it, I did twist her hand, but in my defense, the moment I realized who she was, I had to have her. The way her smart little mouth talked down on me in her office had her passing my mind all afternoon. The daughter of the man who owed me more money than his life was worth? That wasn’t a coincidence, that was fate.

  She no doubt didn’t view it that way. In fact, given her resistance, I would dare to guess that maybe she saw this whole marriage as a chore. Doing her part to save her father’s life and keeping her obligations at the bare minimum. But I didn’t want to be an obligation. I wanted to be her fucking inspiration!

  The reason she breathed.

  The very thing that made her heart stutter.

  The force that drove her forward, and I didn’t mean while my body was pushing into her in a vigorous state. However, I wanted that to fucking happen, too. Soon. Now. Shit . . . that wouldn’t happen anytime in my foreseeable future, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Bianca could barely tolerate me, even when she did fucking want me.

  And she did.

  I could see it in the way her breath hitched when I got too close. I could feel it in the way her body molded to mine, and her lips hungrily sought my kisses instead of disputing them. She fucking wanted me as much as she hated every breath that I kept on taking.

  The movement at the door caught my eye, and my head turned, facing my wife, who was sans mask and dressed in a set of pajamas. “If you think wearing pajamas would deter my thoughts from where that kiss was going, you would be so very wrong, wife.”

  “If you think that we were going to pick up where we left off after dinner, you would be so very . . . very wrong, husband.”

  I laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Good.” She pushed back her sleeve and looked around, almost nervously. I saw the moment she registered the third plate, and relief took over her posture. “Greta is joining us?”

  “The senior center has kicked her out for the night.” I pulled some silverware out of the drawer. “Are you disappointed?”

  “More like relieved,” she mumbled under her breath.

  “What’s that?” I knew damn well what she had said.

  “I was just saying how excited I am to get to know your mother more. She’s so busy, and I feel like for two people living under the same roof, I’ve sure missed her comings and goings often enough.”

  “I bet.” I pulled out her chair and gestured for her to sit. “If you like, I can arrange more home time for her—or myself—if you’re lonely.”

  She took the offered seat. “How can I be lonely if you are always having me babysat?”

  “Amore, my sweetest of loves, I wouldn’t call it babysitting. I call it protecting. Plus, they are under specific instructions not to interfere with your day.”

  She pulled her cellphone out of her pocket, holding up a display of text messages. I leaned in close, feeling a bit of jealousy taking hold. “You might want to let Troy know because he blows up my phone all day long, telling me my sweater is ugly, and my shoes are a quarter-inch shy of being hooker heels.”

  “In all fairness, he isn’t wrong. The first time you took those suckers off, I was shocked at how short you really are.” But man do I love those heels. I’ve envisioned them in many ways throughout the day. Spread wide with my body kneeling between them. Crossed behind my back. Opened wide with me cradled between her thighs. I cleared my throat, hoping she didn’t know the direction my mind was going. “But I will talk to him.”

  I picked up my own phone and sent him a text. I received an instant response. A few seconds later, her phone buzzed. She read it, took a picture of her flipping off the screen, and then sat her phone down. I stared at her questioningly, and when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to offer an explanation, I asked. She glared back at me as she answered. “He called me a tattletale.”

  What am I even dealing with here? “A tattletale?”

  “Yeah, like a snitch. A whistleblower.” She looked at me, exasperated. “Were you raised under a rock?”

  What does how I was raised have to do with it? “No. I was raised by Greta. Mostly. Well, from the time I was fourteen anyway.”

  She looked genuinely confused. “Wait, Greta isn’t your mother?”

  “She is,” I confirmed.


  “But she didn’t raise you as a child?” She played with her fork as she looked on, waiting for an answer.

  It took me a moment to catch on to what she was asking because to me, Greta was my mother, but to others, it came down to biology. Did we share the same blood? No. Did she love me regardless? Yes. Well, I hoped she did, anyway. I was going to assume I was her pride and joy. “No.”

  “I’m confused,” she confessed.

  I bit my lip, trying to think about how I should put it. “You’re not Peter’s mother, but you raised him.”

  “So, you’re adopted.”

  “Not officially, but as an adult, I took it upon myself to legally change my name.” A small piece of information that no one but Troy and Greta knew.

  “She was your foster mom?” She was blinking like she just didn’t get it, and really, it wasn’t complicated.

  I laughed. “No. My foster mom didn’t want me long before I left her care. Greta found me on the street and took care of me. Offering me food and money at first, until one rainy day, she took me home, and I never left. Well, I mean I did. But, I never left her. Eventually, I moved her here with me, and now it’s my turn to take care of her.”

  Her eyes got soft at my admission. “Does she know what you do? That you’re”—her voice lowered—“A shark.”

  Greta took that exact moment to enter and she laughed at my little wife. “I know he does more than just loans, if that’s what you’re asking. But, he is a good man despite his questionable indiscretions.” She patted my cheek, and I leaned into it, craving the approval like a damn lost puppy. “Plus, there are a lot of businesses he partakes in that are more . . . ” there was a pause as she thought it through, “legal.”

  Greta took a seat next to me, the one woman who had always been in my corner, even when she knew my corner was bloody and broken. “It’s true. I am a stand-up citizen by most people’s standards.”

  My wife leveled me with a glare that would probably make a lesser man shift nervously in their seat. But, I wasn’t afraid of her. In fact, I lived for the day that she let all that fire loose on me. She blinked slowly when her glare hadn’t phased me. “Most people have some pretty low standards.”

  Greta smiled, not even pretending to think that our marriage was anything more than a business deal. She knew me, but I knew she hoped for more. One day. One day I hoped to give her everything she dreamed of as a payment for all she had given me. “But, standards none the less.”

  Greta reached for the bowl of warm rolls in the center of the table, grabbing one before offering the bowl to both of us. Bianca took the offered roll and tore off a piece before popping it in her mouth. One eyebrow shot up. “These are good.”

  “Did you expect less of me?” I paused, waiting to see if she would actually answer. “But, I must confess, those were only heated and served. Although, given more time, my Amore, I could make rolls that rival those.”

  “Is everything a competition with you?” She sat her roll on her plate, waiting for my answer.

  “It is when you’re involved.” Which was true. I’d been determined to prove her wrong since the moment I married her, but her strength rivaled my own. Her resistance seemed higher than what I was capable of, but there was no way I would admit that out loud.

  Bianca took another bite of her bread, her glare never wavering. It was hot. The intensity of green eyes boring into me, the electricity passing between us like a powerful charge of desire, and if the whole moment wasn’t turning her on, she was dead inside because I felt every damn current that moved through us, making my pulse pick up and my cock turn to granite.

  Greta cleared her throat. “When am I getting grandkids?”

  Ice water. We both pulled back like we were doused with a giant bucket of ice water. Bianca’s eyes fluttered a few times before turning to Greta. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Grandkids?” She put the word out there again, and I saw the panic in Bianca’s face. “It’s time for some grandkids, I’m not getting younger here.”

  “Umm. . . I. . .” Bianca paused, begging with her eyes for me to help her out. Instead, I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms, and waited. Sorry, my little love, I’d like to know how you respond to this as well. “I don’t think I’m ready for babies.”

  Greta picked up her fork and took a bite of her pasta, humming in approval before speaking with her mouth full. “You’re not getting any younger.”

  “I have plenty of years to decide if I want kids,” Bianca stated.

  “This is true, but give him a few years, and he will be off his game. Why don’t you have them while he’s in his prime? Don’t you want a proactive father?” Jesus, Greta, I’m not that much older than her, I could be seventy, and I guarantee that if my heart still beat, I would be proactive. But, I said nothing, continuing to be an outside observer in this conversation.

  I had to give Bianca credit. She hadn’t let Greta’s harsh tone intimidate her; instead, she picked up her fork and took a bite of her dinner, making her own approving sound that pleased me. “I fear my husband,” she made a point to put extra dramatics on the word, “is already far past his prime.”

  Oh, my saucy woman would pay. I rubbed my palms on my thigh, itching to show her just how very much in my prime I was. All night long. Instead of voicing just that, I shrugged it off. I’d patiently wait for the day when she would swallow her words, probably after choking on my cock. The mental image made my lips curve up involuntarily, and my wife instantly zoomed in on it.

  I watched as she licked her lips, a nervous habit I’d seen her do a few times. “Something amusing, Royal?”

  “Nothing, Mrs. Russo. Just thinking about how old and feeble I am compared to my younger wife. It’s such a shame you didn’t marry up like I apparently have.”

  Greta watched our exchange in amusement. “This is perfect.”

  Bianca and I both turned to her and, in unison, asked, “What’s perfect?”

  “This little match you have going here. I expect grandkids by next spring.” Then she looked between us both again. “Actually, I give it until the first signs of fall.”

  Ha, at the rate things were going, I’d be lucky to even get into Bianca’s pants by then.

  CHAPTER 17

  BIANCA

  I wasn’t too put off over having the weekend plans canceled. If anything, having some time to explore his massive piece of property gave me a better sense of the man himself. His house was big, like . . . massive. He had way too many rooms for the people actually occupying space in the house.

  He liked tall windows, dark woods, and if I had to guess, if I ever got this door unlocked, his office would be done in all leather. I jiggled the bobby pin to the left, trying to ignore the ache in my knees, completely unaware of the body behind me. “I have a key, you know.”

  I jumped, almost giving myself a black eye with the doorknob. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Troy just shook his head. “Sorry, it must have skipped my mind. Mind moving? I need to fetch the boss a few documents.”

  I licked my lips, a subconscious movement that I hadn’t even realized I was doing until I was midway through. “In there?”

  He sighed, dramatically moving his arms. “Where else would I need to go?”

  “Right.” I stumbled back, practically crab crawled out of the way.

  Troy stepped forward before pulling a key ring from his pocket and inserting a key into the lock. He twisted the key, then the knob and as the door popped open, he turned to look over his shoulder at me. “Coming?”

  Odds were good he was going to tell Royal he caught me snooping, so I might as well go in, right? That’s the defense I told myself as I strolled into Royal’s office seconds after Troy disappeared through the door. The office, as predicted, was all dark wood and leather, but I was surprised to see the bright color abstract hanging on the wall.

  I walked closer to the painting, examining it from where it hung high on the wall. It was a mix of yel
lows and purples, with a splash of red, formed into some exotic flower. “I didn’t peg him for the flower guy. Or a color guy for that matter.”

  Troy looked up from where he was digging through the drawer and paused. “Oh yeah, that was a gift.”

  The mention of a gift piqued my interest, especially for a guy who was so . . . so . . . ugh. I couldn’t even put words to him. He’s so unlikable, annoying, infuriating. But then he kissed me, and I just didn’t understand why my body didn’t understand what my mind knew.

  I wanted to know who would gift my husband something so bright and colorful, and why he would choose to display such a gift. If I asked Troy, would that look like I cared? I didn’t care, I really didn’t. It’s more of a gnawing curiosity. “Business offering?”

  I hoped that Troy would take the bait and answer me. His movement stopped again. “I guess you could say that. They definitely did business.”

  I tore my eyes away from the painting and looked toward the desk, where he had a neat pile of paperwork laid out. “What exactly does that mean, Troy?”

  His eyes sparkled, knowing he was delivering information that would get me worked up. “Nothing. It’s like I said, they did business. The painting was an offering of . . . faith.”

  I put my hands on my hips, giving him my best glare. “And what are you not telling me?”

  “Is none of my business.” He picked up some papers and placed them neatly in the drawer, then held up a flash drive. “I’ve gotten what I’ve come for, so I’m going to bounce. There is nothing important in here really, so feel free to search away, but please keep it neat. Royal gets a bit whack when his things are a mess or out of order.”

  His long strides carried him out of the room, and I suddenly had no interest standing here with the painting gifted to him. I sent the art one last look of disdain before backing out of the room myself, using what had to be all my strength to pull the heavy wooden door closed behind me. I had just reached the first step of the stairs when my phone pinged from my pocket. I pulled it out, seeing Royal’s name flash on the screen.