Meaning I’m pretty screwed up when it comes to men. Doesn’t help when your parents force you into an arranged marriage…
Perry’s expression hardens, his gaze stormy. “So you never think about him.”
I slowly shake my head. “Not really.”
“But you always bring him up.”
He’s all I have to compare Perry to, not that I want to admit that. “It was nothing.”
“If it was nothing, then why won’t you tell me this guy’s name?”
My spine stiffens. “It’s really none of your business. And why does it matter to you anyway?”
“If we’re going to be married, I should know about your past—involvements.” He hesitates for only a moment. “Don’t you want to know about me? And my past?”
“Not really, considering it’s all over the internet,” I remind him.
An irritated sound escapes him as he rubs at the back of his neck. “Has he ever tried to contact you?”
I frown. “Who?”
“Your French lover.”
“He was Irish,” I correct, my voice soft.
Perry’s expression tightens. “I hate this guy.”
“That makes two of us.”
His expression is thunderous as he watches me. He almost looks…jealous?
“You’ve got shitty men in your life.”
“My brothers aren’t so bad.”
“I don’t see them helping you out.”
“They have their own lives to lead. Their own reasons to escape our parents,” I say. “I don’t hold that against them.”
“I do. I think they’re assholes,” he spits out.
“They’re not so bad once you get to know them,” I say gently. Maybe Perry believes I’m not so bad once he gets to know me too? “Sometimes you can act like an asshole.”
“When?” he asks incredulously.
“At the engagement party, when you spotted the bruises.” What am I doing? It’s like I want to get a rise out of him. And from the anger I see flaring in his gaze, I’m fairly certain it’s working.
“Like I told you, I was trying to protect you.”
“Well, now you’ve got me. The two of us living in sin all alone in this gorgeous penthouse apartment.” I throw my arms out wide, indicating the room, the entire place. “You’re benefiting yet again.”
“I’m not benefiting from anything.” His voice is flat, his gaze going to the window.
I stare at his golden profile, trying to ignore the way my heart starts to race the longer I look at him.
He’s almost too pretty to be real.
“What do you mean, you’re not benefiting?”
“All that talk of sin doesn’t mean shit, since you won’t let me touch you.” His gaze finds mine once more and I go completely still at the flickering flame I see in his blue depths.
My mouth drops open and I ignore Doja when she makes her way toward me and winds her slinky body around my calves. “I assumed you didn’t want to touch me.”
It was all for show, right? He doesn’t like me, not really. Most men don’t.
“You know what happens when you assume.”
We’re both quiet, but I can feel something grow between us, until it steals all of the oxygen out of the room, making it difficult for me to breathe.
Awareness.
Of each other.
Dare I even think it’s mixed with a hint of…
Attraction?
No.
Yes?
Definitely.
He’s handsome, I can’t deny it. When we touch, sparks fly. When we kiss?
I want to continue kissing him.
In private.
Without an audience.
I’m not his type though. And I saw his type at the engagement party thanks to Lindy. He likes them dark haired and voluptuous. Women who dress sexily and are confident in their every move.
Meaning the complete opposite of me.
“I’m curious,” he finally says.
“About what?”
“You.”
We’re both quiet again, my mind going nonstop.
He’s probably just playing me.
“There’s nothing to be curious about.” I lift my chin, hoping I look stronger than I feel. “According to you, I’m a scared little virgin.”
“Yet according to you, you’re an experienced woman who doesn’t need—or want it to be—gentle,” he throws back at me.
My entire body prickles with awareness at his words. The way he said I don’t need it gentle.
Is he referring to what I think he is?
“Are you talking about…”
“Sex?” He walks further into my bedroom, drawing closer to me. Close enough that I can smell him, his cologne lingering in the air, along with his own unique scent. I subtly breathe him in, my head starting to spin.
He smells really good.
Too good.
I glance down at his hands, noticing the rings. He only has a couple on one hand, and I’m curious.
How many rings does he own? And how does he decide which ones to wear?
“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “That.”
“Can’t say the word?” He’s even closer now. To the point that he’s standing directly in front of me and Doja is rubbing around his legs. Again, the shitty little traitor. “Are you one of those who can only spell it out instead of say it? S-E-X?”
“Of course not.”
He smiles, his expression sly. “I bet you only ever do it in the dark.”
I almost say I don’t ever really do it at all, but I keep my mouth shut.
I think of Seamus. The only time I’ve been with a man romantically, and I can’t lie—it had been magical. He was so tender and sweet. So incredibly careful. He knew I was cautious, unsure and he didn’t push. He made sure I was satisfied, always asking me if I liked it, where did I want him to touch me. He was considerate in bed. An unselfish lover.
It hurt, his betrayal. It meant everything he did and said was meaningless.
I was meaningless to him.
I wonder what Perry is like in bed. Maybe he’s a quick lay. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am or whatever that old saying is. Two-pump chump?
There are so many ways to describe it. I bet that’s Perry. All the women he’s been with are probably just thrilled with the fact that they’re with him. Too dazzled by his good looks and his easygoing charm to worry too much about their own needs.
Pleasing him is enough to them.
“You don’t know me,” I say, hating how shaky my voice is. “Or what I like.”
“I’m supposed to find out though, right?” He takes a couple of steps forward, reaching for me, his fingers settling for the briefest moment on my cheek before his hand falls away. My face tingles where he touched me, causing a ripple effect throughout my entire body and settling right between my legs. “After all, in a few weeks, I’ll be your husband.”
I stare up at him, a familiar scent hitting my nose. “You’ve been drinking.”
His smile is far too big. “So smart, wife.”
Irritated, I push at his chest, but he doesn’t stumble or even take a step backward. He’s firmly in place, which makes me wonder if this is some sort of metaphor for my future.