“No, Amber. I’m telling you to do as you’re told for once in your life.” She swings on her heel, gathering her handbag and coat. Already shocked by her abrupt change in mood, I’m left further shaken when my mother halts her exit long enough to face me again. “You are my daughter. It’s time you stopped acting like an idealistic princess in search of a fairy tale and more like the billionaire heiress I raised you to be.”
I’m left gaping like a carnival clown at the back of the door when it slams shut behind her. Never in a million years did I expect to see that type of behaviour from the seemingly innocuous woman who flits around the periphery of my father’s machinations. It seems that in this game of cat and mouse that is my life, no one’s who they appear to be.
“Baby.” A gentle hand attempts to rouse me. I pretend they’re an annoying fly, swatting at them before rolling onto my side and snuggling under the covers.
“Amber. Wake up! I don’t have much time.” They’re not so gentle this time. The urgency in their touch increases. I open one eye, a smile curling my lips when I discover that it’s Jax. A very naked Jax, who shouldn’t be in my room on the morning of our wedding.
“It’s bad luck to see me.” I yawn, slapping a hand over my mouth in case of morning breath.
Jax shifts me over so he has enough room to climb into the bed with me. “It’s only bad luck if I see the dress. I’m positive that any time I get to see your beautiful body without clothes brings good luck.”
My husband-to-be rolls me onto my back and lowers his hard body over mine. He nudges my knees apart with one of his and slides his cock home in one smooth motion. I arch, my shoulders the only part of my upper body left on the bed, as the exquisite burn of his surprise entry makes my eyes roll back in my head. My hands land on his shoulders with a loud slap.
“Jax.” His name leaves me in a reverent rush of breath.
“I know, baby. It feels good. Like we’re made for each other.”
Resting his forehead on mine, Jax sets a slow, methodical pace by pumping his hips with lazy grace. I stare into his eyes, blinking back tears when I find the love that shines within them too overwhelming. My fiancé regards me with a raw intensity that promises that his sun rises and sets with me. My fingers dig into the hard muscles of his shoulders, pulling him closer until his entire weight rests on my body and I wish that I could meld us into one person.
“I love you.” I lift my mouth to his and seal my sentiments with a kiss.
“I love you, too.” Jax murmurs his answer in between kisses. He rolls onto his back, bringing me with him so I’m settled over his hips. “Worship me with your body. Show me that you’re mine.”
Laying my hands on his chest, I use my knees to lift myself up and down over his straining cock. It takes a moment to find the rhythm that makes my pussy clench around him. I maintain it for as long as I can, closing my eyes, and ignoring the trembling in my legs that threatens to make me collapse.
Jax has other ideas. He kneads my bouncing breasts, flicking my tightly furled nipples with his thumbs, before running warm fingers down my stomach. He stops long enough to circle my belly button, then presses his thumb against my clit. My hips buck of their own volition. It interrupts my pace and I lose my rhythm. My eyes fly open, a long moan ripped from me when he rubs my sensitive nub in a circle.
“You close, baby?” Jax winks. His hands grip my hips, fingers flexing against my flesh. He twists my body, throwing me onto my back and positioning himself over me once more. There’s a devious gleam in his eyes when he slides his dick back into me and pumps hard. He stops long enough to tilt my hips by placing an arm under them, before leaving me with little choice but to hold on when he finds the perfect angle and pistons into me over and over.
“I know you’re close. Come for me, baby.” Jax’s voice is liquid velvet to my ears. His command is full of delicious promise of what my climax will bring.
I run my hand down my stomach, pressing my index finger against my pulsing clit and working it in a figure-eight while Jax uses his magic cock to send me spiralling into orgasmic enjoyment. My walls clench around him, holding his cock so tight that I can feel him swell seconds before he empties his release inside me.
“Fuck.” The uncustomary curse word sounds strange coming from Jax’s mouth; although, it fits the situation. That wasn’t our usual animalistic joining or slow and sensual connection. It was something else.
A deeper bonding.
Our souls touched.
They made promises to each other. Mimicked the vows we’ll be making later today.
The alarm on my phone begins blaring. Jax rolls off me and shuts down the sound with a quick, efficient movement. He stands, looking down at me with a curious look on his face.
“I know I’m an asshole, at times.” I shrug, uncertain as to how he wants me to respond. “But, I wanted to tell you that I love you more than I love anything else in this world. You are the light that I need to find my way out of the darkness I choose to live in. I can’t promise you that I’ll never hurt you because we both know that I will. It’s what I do. It’s who I am. What I can promise you is that I will kill anyone who tries to come between us. I’ll keep you safe from my darkness. And, I’ll be the best damn husband you could hope for. We’re going to have a dozen children, houses all over the world, and more money than we’ll be able to spend in twenty lifetimes. Your life will be golden, baby. That I can promise.”
I force a smile to my face, even though on the inside I’m disappointed by his words. If he knew anything about me, he’d know that I’d swap all the money and houses for a husband who didn’t love me one minute and hate me the next. I’d give up every fancy thing he had to offer for a man who would never hurt me.
My response must be enough to fool him. Jax blows me a kiss, then bends over and gathers his clothes from the floor. He slides his legs into his pants, buttoning them just as a knock comes at my door. I pull the covers over my naked form with a yelp when he strides to the door and throws it open.
The ladies who are in charge of getting me ready for the ceremony later today school their features into impassive masks when my barely dressed fiancé saunters out of my bedroom without another word. Once he’s out of earshot, they place their hands over their mouths and giggle like a pair of sycophantic schoolgirls. Inwardly I roll my eyes at them, while outwardly, I show little sign of acknowledging their antics.
I pull the blankets around me and climb out of bed. Pressing the button that opens the block-out shutters, I throw open the door to the ensuite.
“I’m having a shower. Once you’ve regained control of yourselves, do you think you can start organising things? I’d hate to be late for my wedding.”
My mother would be proud of the haughty way I carry myself as I head for the sanctuary of my bathroom. Personally, I’m prouder of the fact that I didn’t let Jax know my true feelings about his heartfelt promises. If he ever had an inkling of the disdain I feel for the life he’s offering me, I would lose the tiny shred of control that I currently hold over him.
I pray that day never comes.
For the life I’m currently trapped in is far from perfect.
Yet, life without that piece of power—no matter how small—would be unbearable.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” Jax doesn’t need to be told twice. He gathers me in his arms, holding me tight. Then, he kisses me as if his life depends upon it. Our tongues tangle. My hands find their way into his wavy hair. And, we block out everyone else until the minister clears his throat.
Seb, who’s acting as the best man, rolls his eyes at our theatrics while the other guests break into enthusiastic applause. I clutch my husband to me, having decided that I’d rather hide in his embrace than face the hundreds of people gathered in the cathedral. Apart from my family, Jax’s family, and the ladies I met at my final dress fitting, the people who’ve attended my wedding are strangers to me. I know that some are important, the le
vel of security that surrounds the event is confirmation of that. Yet, the entire ceremony feels like a well-constructed ruse. An orchestrated play with each person adhering to their carefully written lines and acting their parts with professional aplomb. There is not a single part of mine or Jax’s personalities to be found in anything.
“Are you ready, Mrs. Ray?” Jax is acting as if he’s high as he leads me away from the altar. Two spots of colour sit on his cheekbones, adding a vitality to his handsome features that isn’t usually visible. He’s bouncing on his toes like a prize fighter, his dark eyes glazed with something I can’t identify straightaway.
Until, it hits me.
Triumph. That’s what Jax is feeling. Dirty, stinking victory. The St. George and Ray families have finally merged. The political and medical dynasty’s can now continue with their plans to take over the world.
One dollar at a time.
“Amber.” Jax pulls me out of my dark thoughts. “I asked if you’re ready?”
I blink. While I’ve been thinking snide thoughts about my new husband’s motivations, he’s led us out of the cathedral and into the bright sunlight. We stand on the cusp of the wide steps. Paparazzi and news cameras line either side of the exit, clamouring for the best position to film our first foray into the world as Dr. and Mrs. Jaxon Ray. Seeing them is the dose of reality that I need.
My mother is right. It’s time to stop acting like an idealistic princess and start performing like the billionaire heiress I was born to be. I straighten my shoulders, pulling to my full height in my heavy dress, and meet Jax’s unblinking look with one of my own.
“I’m ready.” I squeeze the hand that holds mine. “Let’s do this.”
“Keep our head down.” Jax cautions as we begin to move through the throng. “We don’t want them to get too many useful shots. It’ll reduce the value of the exclusive interview we have scheduled with Vogue when we return from our honeymoon.”
“Gee, won’t that be fun,” I mutter under my breath. My husband tilts his head toward mine, narrowing his eyes when he doesn’t catch my snarky remark in full.
Some sort of confetti—rose petals maybe—rain down on our head. I concentrate on keeping my face to the ground as instructed, although it’s not because I give a shit about our Vogue interview. My thin heels are slipping on the marble steps, the sway of my weighty Swarovski crystal encrusted skirt making it hard for me to keep my balance. Another fine example of my family’s preference for appearance over practicality.
I let go of Jax’s hand so I can throw out a steadying arm when my left foot slides off the step. He sees me falling and scoops me into the air. Whistles of appreciation erupt throughout the assembled crowd, then the annoying clicking of the cameras closest to us pick up pace as they catch the scent of an exclusive.
Jax adjusts his hold on me, securing me in his embrace before he trots down the remaining steps. Never have I been so glad to see the door of a limo open when we finally get close enough to enter. My husband manages to step into the vehicle without breaking stride. Our driver scrambling to close the door behind us when the photographers try to point their cameras inside.
“Straight to the airport, Dr. Ray?”
“Yes. Private terminal. The jet is waiting.”
I clamber off Jax’s lap, sniggering as I go. Holding out my hand with my little finger pointed in the air, I mimic his tone. “The jet is waiting. Well, aren’t we la-dee-da fancy?”
The only response I get is my husband leaning forward and hitting the button that lifts the partition between us and the driver. He turns back to me and uses his bigger body to trap me between him and the seat. I squeal when he seizes hold of both my hands and pins them above my head, nervous laughter bubbling forth when Jax nuzzles the side of my neck.
“Fancy, she says.” His mouth is next to my ear. A shiver rushes over me when his warm breath fans over my skin. “Would the lady find it too fancy if I poured champagne all over her pretty, little body then licked every inch of her skin until I’d drunk every single drop?”
“No,” I whisper. “The lady would like that.”
“So would I.” Jax replies. He moves away from me, opening the mini fridge and removing a bottle of champagne. “Dress off, baby. I have some bubbles to drink.”
One would assume that if you were ever going to find yourself in an abusive relationship, you’d at least get a honeymoon period before it began. I mean, doesn’t it start slowly and then escalate before you realise? I’m sure I’d read that somewhere, along with a heap of other touchy-feely life advice I’d found in some pamphlet. Not that I’d truly put much thought into it; what with amnesia and my over-bearing family cramping my ability to have an independent thought of my own.
For as long as I can remember—a few months, tops—my marriage had been a done deal with little regard given to the type of man I was wedding.
But, now that I find myself cowering on the floor of our honeymoon suite in Anguilla, I’m wondering if, perhaps, the signs were there before our marriage? His hot and cold temper. The vague explanations for the bruises I’d find on my body. An increased need to administer Centrifuge whenever I questioned him.
“Look what you made me do.” Jax pulls me to my feet by my hair. He takes hold of my chin, lifting my face and jabbing at my cheek. I recoil in pain at his touch.
It earns me another backhand.
This one sends me back to the floor. I don’t cower this time, instead crawling as fast as I can for the sanctuary of the bathroom. As is my luck, I don’t make it. My husband beats me to the door. He slams it shut, then stands with his feet wide and his arms folded across his chest, glaring down at me where I crouch on the floor.
“I’m sorry.” The words stick in my throat as I say them. My apology is a lie. I’m not sorry. I don’t even know what I did to set him off. “It won’t happen again.”
Except it will, because the rules keep changing, and he never tells me what they are.
The first week of our honeymoon was beautiful. We swam. We ate great food. We walked through the markets, buying every tiny trinket that caught our fancy. We made love—morning, noon, and night. It was bliss.
I was happy, and so was Jax.
Then, he started to get angry. His mobile would ring; bad news from home. He’d yell at someone. They’d yell back at him. The call would end, and he’d take his rage out on me.
It started small. Belittling me in front of the wait staff. Slapping my hand away from something I wanted to buy. Until, it got worse.
Yesterday, he pushed me over because I was too slow to walk through the door of our villa.
Today, he hit me across the face because the valet smiled at me when I handed him his tip.
“Tell me why you keep breaking the rules?” Jax sinks to the floor in front of me. He rests his back against the bathroom door, and pats the thick carpet beside him as an invitation to come sit next to him. I crawl to the spot he indicated, all the while hating myself for being so weak. If I had any backbone, I’d kick him in the nuts and fly home to organise a divorce. But, I have nothing waiting for me at home. Seb is the only person who’d take my side and that wouldn’t help me.
I’m stuck with no way to escape.
“Jax,” I hold a hand out to him, palm-first, like shield. “I don’t mean to upset you, but I don’t understand what I did wrong. I handed the valet the money you gave me, I didn’t look him in the eye like you asked, I even kept a respectful space between us. Tell me where I messed up so it doesn’t happen again.”
There’s a light thump when Jax throws his head back against the door. The muscle in his jaw clenches, unclenches, then clenches again, and I watch in sick fascination as it moves. Then, he lashes out. The first punch catches me in the eye. The second glances off my shoulder. A third makes me see stars when it strikes my temple.
My husband knocks me onto my back. He straddles my waist. We fight for control of my upper body. My arms are pinned above my head with one of his hands. H
is free hand is used to rip my bikini top away from my body, then he unbuttons my shorts and works them down my hips. My skin burns when he tears my bottoms from my body, leaving me exposed to his hateful glare.
“How can you be so stupid? I don’t understand what I did wrong, Jax.” He curls his top lip and snarls at me once he’s finished miming my earlier confession. “You looked at him with your fuck-me eyes then you smiled at him. That was enough. I saw him picturing what it would be like to fuck you. He was trying to imagine how you’d feel sliding down over his cock.”
Jax jabs me in the stomach with a closed fist. I try to bend my knees to absorb the impact, but I can’t with his weight on mine. “This body belongs to me. I should be the only person who knows what it feels like to be inside you.”
“You are,” I scream. “I’m not interested in anyone else.”
“Prove it.” The two words are a dare and a demand rolled into one.
“I don’t know how.” My sobbing nearly drowns out my stupid confession. I wish it had because acknowledging any weakness to Jax is stupid. He’ll take it and use it against me. Laying wet kisses along the side of my neck, Jax lets go of my arms.
He stands and holds out a hand to me. “I’ll show you.”
I take the proffered hand, grateful for the leverage he provides that helps me to my feet. My entire body is wracked with shakes. They steal my balance, making me wobble on the spot until I’m steady enough to follow him to our king-sized bed. Distaste at what’s to come floods me, bile rising in my throat, nausea threatening.
Jax strips his clothes off, then sits on the edge of the bed. He regards me without comment. I return his expression, a small sense of satisfaction growing within me when he doesn’t shut down my token defiance.
Our silent staring competition continues. The hackles rise on the back of my neck. Goosebumps grow over my skin when I discover than he is getting to me. I’m going to blink first. This is going to be another victory for Dr. Jaxon Ray.
Amnesia, a Psychological Thriller (Centrifuge Duet Book 1) Page 10
