Zara
It’s been one week since I returned home. My initial anger at him has grown into full-blown rage, but I channeled my frustration productively, sealing two deals.
Who does this man think he is? And why do I react so strongly to him? I am distraught—mentally and emotionally all over the place.
Marrying him was a mistake.
Am I even married if we didn’t consummate our wedding? It’s irrelevant. I’ve made a deal with the devil, and it’s too late to withdraw from the bargain sealing my fate.
Locked inside the indoor shooting range, I retrieve a Glock from the shelf behind me and aim at the man-shaped target, imagining him. Firing at the image, I riddle the center with bullets until my chest heaves with heavy exhales.
Vian hasn’t even texted, which has worsened my state. Sadly for me, I crave his attention, but having it confuses me––two opposing forces ripping me apart.
Conrad leans against the cement column by my side, silent as I expel my restless energy.
“What?” I shout as we are both wearing ear protection, redirecting my anger at the wrong person.
He’s about to say something, but I unload another magazine into the target—one pop after another exploding in a deafening storm, echoing with the eerie silence of death. Bullets rip the paper apart, scattering pieces like confetti on the floor, just like my sanity.
“Another one?” he asks, and I offer a strained nod, not understanding what is happening to me. This virtual stranger has so much power over me it’s unnerving.
He sets another target as he informs me about a massive order from the government.
My business flourishes, and I take extreme pride in being the only woman in this business, ignoring the implications of what my guns do, leaning into the cognitive dissonance.
The metal door opens, revealing one of my men. He scratches his nape. “Your husband is here, Boss.”
A surge of excitement zaps through my insides, electrifying me. My reaction to his presence has my jaw setting in a hard line, wishing to shred it just like the target.
“Good. Let him wait,” I say and straighten my arms, cradling the gun. With my index finger on the trigger, I ready myself for shooting.
“Zara,” Conrad sighs.
Bullets spit out of the muzzle in a rage of lead, painting the floor with wasted opportunities. One hundred bullets later, it’s not enough to exorcise my annoyance, but I feel a little more in control of my emotions.
I release my hair from the ponytail, running my hands through it to style it, and stare at my black attire. The coverall is the best on the market, bulletproof while having a breathing capacity.
Outside, I hop in the Jeep with Conrad at my side, driving toward the main house.
“I hate you,” I grit out. “I didn’t need a man, and especially that cocky asshole who drives me wild. That was an idiotic idea.”
He brushes invisible lint off his suit jacket. “You jumped quite eagerly on it considering you were the one who proposed it to Vian.”
He’s an asshole for calling me out like that.
“And as my best friend and advisor, you should have said no,” I say through gritted teeth, looking straight ahead.
He waves me off, unimpressed. “As if anyone could change your mind once you’ve made it up.”
It was a great lapse in judgment. I was doing perfectly fine on my own. Now he’s sabotaging my peaceful existence with his imposing presence, suffocating me. I can’t breathe.
Pulling up to the house, I see a vehicle parked to the side. Hopping out of the Jeep, I burst through the doors and meet my household manager.
“Where is he?”
“He wanted to walk the property,” she informs me, looking unsure.
“Unsupervised?” I ask in a high-pitched voice betraying my nerves.
A line digs between her brows, and she says meekly, “He is your husband, ma’am.”
Right, but that doesn’t give him the right to simply wander without asking.
I am about to turn around when she adds, “He brought an overnight bag.”
The asshole.
I inhale a lungful of air to ground myself. I want to have it sent to a guest room on the far side of the house, but I must keep up appearances for the staff. “Put it in my room.”
“Right away.”
I climb into the Jeep and take off, my eyes scanning the area, but he’s nowhere in sight. This cat-and-mouse game he started excites me as much as it maddens me.
Near the forest’s edge, I stop the car and follow the narrow trail toward the lake. It’s my quiet place. But as I see fresh shoe prints, I groan low in my throat.
How did he find it?
He stands at the edge of the lake, his hands tucked into his pockets, lost in deep thoughts as he stares ahead.
For a moment, the girl I used to be floats around him like a mirage, prompting me to shake my head to clear my mind.
As I approach him, pebbles crunch under my boots, and he says, not bothering to glance back. “I don’t like to wait.”
It pisses me off that he knows it’s me just from my footsteps. His capacity to recognize me is uncanny.
Reaching him, I cross my arms over my chest, staring him down. “I don’t like you roaming around my home without permission.”
The force of seeing him unbalances me. Eyes locked, we keep each other hostage, tension sizzling so hot, it’s a wonder neither of us bursts into flames.
“I’m your husband, Zara. Like it or not, I can come and go as I please.”
“Not here.”
“Let me guess, it’s here you brought your lover boy.”
This asshole. I said I wouldn’t love him, but I think I will hate him like no one else.
Just to rile him up, I grin. “I lost my virginity to him here.”
His eyes set on the waterfall as if he knows that it happened in the grotto behind it. “It must have been quite uncomfortable.”
He won’t ruin one of my cherished memories. Even if I don’t remember his face, I remember tidbits—my body’s reaction, my heart latching onto him as my soul mate. Which he was. My brain erased him, but my soul could never forget.
I get in his face and under his intense gaze, goose bumps pepper my skin. “I gave him all my firsts.”
“And I’ll have all your lasts.”
That sounds even more important, doing something funny to my insides that I can’t comprehend. I refuse to entertain that thought.
“My aim is impeccable. Don’t make me shoot you. I can play a widow well and with your line of work...”
The threat dangles between us, but it doesn’t faze him. Gripping my chin, he lowers his face to me, whispering above my mouth, “Postpone that until you give me a child.”
The ghost of his mouth causes my lips to tingle. “Why is that so important? You could get anyone pregnant.”
“I want you,” he says with such resolution it makes my heart flutter.
“I’m not ready to become a mother.”
“Then be ready to keep those feelings bottled and postpone thoughts of killing me until afterward,” he says, caressing the contour of my lips, evoking a hunger that ravages my insides. For his poisoned kisses. For his fiery touch. For more.
Thick silence falls. Just as quickly, our riling up fades into the background.
The sun lowers, casting an orange, violet light on the lake, calling me toward it.
I palm his chest, intent on pushing him away, but the strong beating organ soothes me, calming my frayed thoughts. So strange.
“Why did you come?”
“I missed my wife,” he says matter-of-factly.
I roll my eyes at him, but my voice loses the hardness, the desire to fight with him evaporating. “Are you staying?”
“For the night. I have a meeting tomorrow.”
“Brief visit then. Good.” A pang hits my chest, betraying my true desire.
“I would cross the globe to see you for a few minutes,” he says, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.
Surely, his eyes are pure witchcraft, putting a spell on me. I open and close my mouth, not knowing how to react to that when he drops his arm and says low, “Fuck.”
I feel the loss of his touch instantly, chilling me. There’s a resonance between us. I sense the connection. It’s so potent, no wonder I can’t stay long in his presence before feeling overwhelmed, torn apart between the compulsion to give in and stay as far away as possible.
I slip my hand into his, and he holds on to it with all his might. His touch anchors me. “You say you accept my past, but you don’t. You can’t. You’re not the sharing type, Vian.”
“No, I am not.”
“Then what? It leaves us at a huge impasse.”
Lifting our interlinked fingers, he places mine on his chest, his eyes softening into a light blue. “You have all the power, Zara.”
“I don’t feel that way when I’m with you,” I confess, driven by honesty.
I wouldn’t say I hide behind a facade. While I keep a certain distance from everyone, the wall crumbles in his vicinity.
“What if I don’t want to return?”
“Kidnapping it is,” he says, with no trace of humor.
“It’s not funny.”
“I wasn’t fucking joking.” He stares intently at the lake as if it holds the answer he seeks.
My heart jolts just as my thighs clench together, the spark of desire making me ache. I’ve been doing business with men, yet no one else came close to making me react this strongly.
“You wouldn’t,” I breathe out.
The corners of his mouth arch up in a wicked tilt. “Don’t try me then.”
The thought is exhilarating—he is so desperate for me, he would kidnap me. Maybe if I think it was forceful, I won’t feel as torn apart, like I am betraying my love by giving in to this madman.
I can’t believe I even entertain that, so I change the topic to distract myself. “How did you find this place?”
“I’ve studied every inch of the grounds on the map. I probably know my way around the perimeter with my eyes closed.”
“Should we test that?” I ask playfully, our moods reflecting each other’s, another uncovered mystery.
He cocks his head and brushes his knuckles down my neck and the valley of my breasts, making my breath hitch. “What do I get in return?”
Damn. Focus, Zara.
“A kiss.”
“Fine.”
I blink, taken aback by his quick reply. “Quite desperate.”
“If forcing you is what it takes to make us happen, so be it. I lack morality for the things I want.” He air quotes forcing as if he’s onto my bullshit.