by Meghan March
“Give me one good reason.”
“Because I don’t want to visit my husband in prison. The idea of conjugal visits creeps me out.”
Something flits over his features. Slowly, he releases his grip on the man’s throat, and the guy hits the ground in a crumple of limbs. Relief washes over me, and I feel like the woman who is able to talk down the Hulk when he’s angry and green. I’m not sure why that kindles a warm sensation in the pit of my stomach, but it does.
I release a long breath, and the pain in my side fires up again. Forge grabs my purse off the ground and strides toward me.
“Are you okay?” he demands, but my question comes at the same moment.
“What are you doing here?”
Before either of us can reply, two police officers turn the corner, followed by Juliette.
“Good Lord, Jericho. Now you’re apprehending criminals too?” Juliette says from just beyond my sister. “I know you’re a man of many talents, but that’s a new one.”
Forge doesn’t even look at her. His gaze stays pinned on me and my wound. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch. I’ve had worse.”
His expression darkens further as he pulls me carefully into his side. “Never again. I won’t allow it.”
“That’s the guy,” Summer says to the police, who walk toward us as she points to the man on the ground.
The police move toward him as he stumbles to his feet. They charge him before he can take a step to escape.
“Get his ID,” Forge orders. “I want to know who the fuck he is.”
“Sir, we’ll need to take statements from all of you,” one officer says.
“My wife’s bodyguard will provide a statement,” Forge replies, pointing at Koba.
“We’ll need to speak to your wife as well,” the officer says.
“She’ll provide you a statement in writing, as will I.” Forge tightens his arm around my shoulders. “Right now, she needs medical care, and Saint-Tropez has lost its appeal for us.”
“I can give a statement,” I say, but Forge shakes his head.
“You’re going back to the boat.” He turns me to face my sister and Juliette. “Summer, do you need help with the bags?”
My sister shakes her head. “I got them.”
“You dropped this one, Summer,” Juliette says, holding up the tiny one containing the bikini I purchased in her store against my will. My reluctance feels ridiculous in the face of actual problems.
“Thank you, Juliette. I’ll certainly be enjoying my wife in whatever she purchased.”
Juliette’s mouth turns into a little pout. “And here you swore you’d never marry.”
My entire body tenses.
“That’s because I hadn’t met Indy yet.”
40
India
Forge brushes off the police with an impressively small amount of effort before shifting his grip on me and lifting me into his arms.
I whip my head around to look at him. Our lips are only a breath apart. “I can walk. I’m not that hurt.”
“I’m done taking chances with you.”
“Indy, look at your knees. Shit.” Summer points to the small rocks embedded in my skin, and they immediately sting.
“Thanks, sis. Didn’t realize that—”
Forge takes a step, carrying me with ease, cutting off my words.
Crowds clear a path before him like he’s Moses at the Red Sea. It’s crazy and impressive, and I have absolutely no idea how he does it. It’s presence and authority and alpha-male pheromones.
Summer follows us back to the quay where Goliath is waiting in the tender. As soon as he sees us, he jumps up. His eyes widen at the sight of blood on my shirt and hands.
“Hospital?” he asks.
“Back to the boat,” Forge replies. “And then we’re underway to Ibiza.”
“Yes, sir.” Goliath holds out his arms, as if offering to take me from Forge.
“I can get on the boat myself. I’m not an invalid,” I protest before he can hand me off.
Forge doesn’t reply or take Goliath’s offer of assistance. Instead, he steps on board carefully before lowering me into one of the white leather captain’s chairs. He places a hand on each arm and lowers his head until his nose almost brushes mine.
“I’ve just made you a target for the entire world, and I didn’t protect you well enough. That’s my fault, and I’ll never make the same mistake again. You have my word.” His granite gaze and solemn tone send chills down my spine as he makes his vow.
“Why would I be a target?”
Forge stares at me, not answering for several moments. Finally, he says, “I have enemies, and now, so do you.”
“What kind of enemies?”
“We’ll discuss it later. But I will keep you safe in whatever way I deem most effective, and you won’t fight me on it. Understood?”
I blink twice. “No. Not understood. You have to—”
He leans forward and presses a kiss to my lips, silencing me.
When he pulls back, he nods at Goliath.
“Let’s go.”
41
Forge
Indy argues with me again as I lift her into my arms to carry her on board the yacht, but my actions override her protests.
Never in my life have I felt such a cold, killing rage settle over me as I did the moment I saw her blood.
No one touches what’s mine. No one hurts the people I claim. If Indy hadn’t stopped me, I would have ripped out his throat.
I’ve never met anyone who had this kind of effect on me. How fiercely I feel about her safety and well-being is as shocking to me as the possessiveness I can’t shake.
She’s not just a means to an end anymore. She’s mine. And I take care of my own.
It’s an unexpected turn of events, but one I can’t regret.
“Forge, put me down.”
She wiggles in my arms, but I’m not ready to let her go yet. I walk us to the master bath attached to my cabin and sit her on the counter.
“I’m fine. I swear. He just got a little carried away with his knife when he cut the strap.”
My anger rises to the surface again when she says knife. “He shouldn’t have had the chance, and that’s on me and Koba.”
I reach for the hem of her shirt and pull it up.
Indy slaps her hands over mine. “Stop. What are you doing?”
“Taking care of you.”
Her hands go limp, and I shake them off. I try not to focus on the fact that I’ve never said those words before in my life.
“Well, you can ask a girl before you take her shirt off,” she says, the words muffled as I pull the ruined tank over her head, leaving her in a bra.
“You’re not a girl. You’re my wife.” I toss it to the floor before crouching to assess the injury. She’s right. It’s a surface wound and not as bad as the blood would suggest, which is helpful, because now I don’t have to chopper out a surgeon to stitch her up.
“A fact you didn’t share with your mistress when you talked her into hiring my sister. Why is that, I wonder?”
India’s smart mouth is going to get her in trouble, but that doesn’t bother me in the least. I know exactly how I’ll handle her. But right now is not the time to paddle her ass.
“She’s not my mistress.” I surprise myself again by giving Indy this information. I don’t explain myself to anyone. I never feel the urge. But for some reason, she has me breaking all the rules.
“But she was, wasn’t she?” Indy asks as I grab a washcloth and wet it to wipe away the crusting blood.
“Does it matter?” I open the cupboard to pull out the first aid kit and find an alcohol swab. I tear open the package as she fires back at me.
“Why do you always respond to a question with a— Ouch! That hurt.” Her shoulders bunch around her ears as she hisses in pain, and it’s like a stab to the heart.
I blow on the cut, wanting
to allay the discomfort I caused.
Fuck. This woman is going to be the end of me.
“It would’ve been worse if I’d warned you.”
I meet her gaze from beneath hooded lids as I stem the urge to apologize. I never apologize.
“You have a shitty bedside manner,” she says as her eyebrows knit together.
“Good thing I don’t usually get called on for nursing.” I pull out the tube of antibiotic ointment, and she flinches. Another stab.
“This won’t hurt.” I wait for her to nod before using a sterile gauze pad to spread it over the wound.
“You’re avoiding my question. Why didn’t you tell me you got my sister a job with your mistress?”
I grit my teeth. “She’s not my mistress. I don’t have a mistress. I have a fucking wife.”
“Who you’ve never slept with, and I know enough about men to realize if they’re not getting it at home, they’re getting it somewhere else.”
“We’ve been married less than a day. Do you really think I’m out getting it somewhere else?” I place my hands on her thighs, above her abraded knees. She glares at me as I expected. “Unless that’s an invitation?”
“Go back to nursing, Forge. Your seduction game needs work.”
The bathroom fills with the sound of my laughter, and India’s glare sharpens.
“You should be afraid of me, and yet you taunt me at every turn.”
“The only thing I’m afraid of is what you’re going to pour on my knees to clean them.”
I don’t reply until her side is covered with a large bandage to protect the two-inch-long slice. I grab the bottle of peroxide from under the sink and hold it up in front of her.
“You’ll survive. I promise. The cobblestone was fairly kind to you.”
“The only way I won’t scream while you clean my knees is if you tell me about you and Juliette.”
And now she’s bargaining with me. Emotional blackmail. Borderline extorting information from me. The negotiator in me approves.
“Is that right?” I say as I lift her off the counter and set her in the shower. Shockingly, she doesn’t make a fuss over being manhandled.
“Yes. Those are my terms.”
I reach for the movable showerhead and turn the water on, letting it run for a few moments before it reaches an acceptable temperature.
“What makes you think you get to set the terms of this negotiation?” I ask, my tone more curious than anything.
“Because you have a tell.”
This makes me stop and look up at her, my eyebrows raised. “Is that right?”
“You don’t like seeing me in pain.” She smiles like she’s discovered the map to the holy grail.
“And you think I’m willing to bargain with you to avoid seeing you in pain?”
Her grin widens, and there’s not much I won’t do to keep that smile on her face, as opposed to a grimace.
“Yep.”
“Take off your skirt if you don’t want it to get wet.”
This time, her eyebrows go up. “Wait . . . What?”
I lay a hand on her hip, tucking a finger into the waistband. “Your skirt. Off or on. I promise I won’t be moved to ravish you at the sight of your panties.”
“I’m sure that’s what all the pirates tell the girls to get them naked.”
“What did you say?” I ask, truly confused this time.
Indy’s cheeks turn pink. “I didn’t mean to call you a pirate out loud.”
Ah . . . “You’re not the first person to call me a pirate. I’m sure you won’t be the last.” I tug the waistband of the skirt, and Indy slaps her hand over mine.
“I’m also not wearing panties, so . . .”
My attention cuts to her face as heat that has nothing to do with the steam filling the shower floods my body.
“You were out in public. In a skirt. Why the fuck weren’t you wearing panties?”
“I didn’t exactly pack for this trip.”
My fist clenches around the showerhead. “Then you should’ve bought some.”
“From who? Your mistress?”
“She’s not my mistress. And if you say that again, I’ll show you exactly where I’m getting my satisfaction.”
Instead of quailing at my tone, Indy smiles and shoves her skirt over her hips, revealing her bare pussy.
Fuckkkk.
“Good,” she says. “I don’t like sharing, even if I don’t have a fucking clue why you married me.”
42
India
I’m standing in front of my husband, in the shower of his bathroom, naked except for a strapless bra. My words and tone may sound confident, but that’s only because I have a great poker face. My heart hammers harder as his gray gaze skims over my body, moving down until it locks on the little silver bead peeking out from between my lips.
“Where the hell did that come from?”
A surge of power rushes through me. “My piercing? It’s been there the whole time.”
Wetness slicks my thighs at his shock.
He studies my face, and I have absolutely no idea what he’s hoping to find. But like someone waved a wand, he banks the fire and returns to ice. “I’ll try not to hurt you.”
The warm water washing over my knees stings, even though he’s covering the needles of spray with his hand to trickle the water over my road rash.
“When did you meet her?” I ask, trying to keep my mind off it.
“None of your business.”
“When did you break it off with her?”
He brushes a washcloth gently over one knee, and I look down to see the skin turning pinkish-red, but most of the grit that was clinging there is already gone.
“Long before I met you,” Forge says, and I’m shocked he gave me even that much information.
“We literally only met a few days ago, so that’s a pretty vague answer.”
“Do you have another question, or are you going to fixate on Juliette, who is completely irrelevant other than the fact that she’s giving your sister a job?”
He’s giving me an opening, and there’s no way I’m going to waste it on Juliette. I choose my words while he turns off the water and reaches for the peroxide. He uncaps the bottle and looks up at me, as if asking for approval before he causes me more pain.
I grip his shoulder with my hand, not caring that I’m essentially dragging his face closer to my pussy, and I strike while he seems the most vulnerable.
“Why did you marry me?”
The peroxide splashes against the abraded skin of my knees, and I tense.
“Because I had to have you.”
The words tear through me, blunting any pain as I stare down into those storm-cloud eyes.
He lowers the bottle of peroxide, and I can feel my heart beat in my nipples and between my legs. This isn’t normal. I shouldn’t feel like this.
But Forge is a force of nature. A rogue wave, crashing into my world and leaving it completely unrecognizable. Why should I be shocked that my body reacts to him like no one else before?
He rises slowly, his fingers trailing up my bare, wet skin. “What do you need from me, India?”
I press my lips together, refusing to say everything swirling in my mind. He already has the upper hand. I can’t give him all the leverage. But I also want him to touch me so badly that I can’t think of another goddamned thing right now.
But it doesn’t matter that I don’t voice my needs, because Forge can read me better than anyone ever has before.
“You want me to touch you. Take your mind off the pain. Make you come.” All statements. No questions.
I stay silent.
Forge holds out a hand. “I won’t make you say it. All you have to do is take my hand.”
43
Forge
She shields her inner turmoil well. Her pride wars with her needs. I’m a gambler too, and I know exactly where I’d lay my bet.
On us.
Indy’s fingers sha
ke as she raises her hand. She’ll either grasp mine or slap me across the face. When her palm slides across my calloused skin, my grip tightens on her like I’m afraid she’ll change her mind. I’m not giving her that much time.
“On the bed. Bra off. Spread your legs. Show me that pretty cunt and the piercing you’ve been hiding.” My orders come out like I was born to give them to her.
Indy’s cheeks darken with a blush, but her nipples pebble against the thin material of her bra. She likes it. She wants it.
With her lips pressed together, she slips around me in the bathroom, and I release her hand.
I force myself to wait a solid sixty seconds before following her. And when I do, it’s to see pure fucking heaven laid out for me.
Her legs are barely spread, and I wonder if she’s shy or just disobedient. I’ll take either. I’ll take anything from her.
“You look like an offering to a pagan god.”
Her blush spreads to her neck and down her chest, almost reaching her pink nipples.
I stop at the end of the bed, where her feet hang over the edge. I grasp her ankles and lift them, bending her knees and pressing her feet flat on the duvet.
Her eyes widen as her pussy lips part, revealing everything to me, including that little silver piercing that dangles right over her clit. Wetness slicks between her thighs, and the beast inside me demands to taste her. Touch her. Fuck her.
When she squeezes her eyes shut for a beat, I can’t help but wonder if she’s less experienced than I assume.
“Are you a virgin?”
Her eyes flick open. “No. Of course not.”
“Then why do you look as terrified as you are excited?”
She swallows and turns her head toward the windows.
“Indy, I’m about to finger-fuck your pussy and eat you until you scream, so I think we’re past the point of embarrassment here.”
Her gaze snaps back to mine. “It’s been a long time, okay?”
