Chapter 21 #2
“I remember you being insufferably arrogant,” she said though the words lacked conviction.
“Do you?” He leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing her ear. “Because I remember you responding quite enthusiastically to my insufferable arrogance.”
Heat flooded her cheeks at the accuracy of his observation. She had responded—more enthusiastically than she cared to admit—even to herself.
“That was before you proved yourself a controlling tyrant,” she said firmly.
“Ah, yes.” His amber eyes glittered with something that might have been amusement. “My heinous crime of wanting to keep you safe.”
“Your heinous crime of thinking you have the right to dictate my choices.”
“And what if I do?” The question was asked quietly but with an edge of challenge that made her spine stiffen.
“I beg your pardon?”
“What if I do have that right?” He spun her again, using the movement to bring his mouth closer to her ear. “What if being my wife means accepting my protection, even when you don’t think you need it?”
“Being your wife,” she said with icy precision, “does not make me your property.”
“Doesn’t it?” His smile was sharp, dangerous. “Because that ring on your finger suggests otherwise.”
“That ring,” she countered, “represents a legal contract, not a bill of sale.”
“A legal contract that gives me certain rights and responsibilities regarding your welfare.”
“I notice you emphasize rights over responsibilities,” she observed tartly.
“Do I?” He dipped her unexpectedly, using the dramatic movement to bring his face within inches of hers. “Perhaps that’s because my responsibilities regarding you are becoming increasingly… complex.”
The way he said it—with heat and frustration and something that sounded almost like confession—made her heart hammer against her ribs.
Don’t let him distract you with pretty words and heated looks.
“Complex how?” she managed to ask as he pulled her upright again.
“Complex in ways that have nothing to do with our original arrangement,” he said quietly.
What does that mean? What is he trying to tell me?
Before she could formulate a response, the music drew to a close. Hugo stepped back with obvious reluctance though his eyes never left her face.
“I believe you mentioned something about dancing with others,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “For the sake of politeness.”
He remembered. Of course, he remembered.
“Yes,” she said though the prospect of dancing with anyone else suddenly held no appeal whatsoever. “It would be the proper thing to do.”
“Would it?” He moved closer again, close enough that she could smell his cologne and see the gold flecks in his amber eyes. “Because I find myself curiously uninterested in what’s proper.”
Stop looking at me like that. Stop making me forget why I should maintain distance.
“Hugo,” she began though she wasn’t sure if it was a protest or a plea.
“Yes?”
“People are watching.”
“Let them watch.” His voice was rough with barely leashed control. “Let them see exactly who you belong to.”
Who you belong to. The possessive claim should have outraged her. Instead, it made her heart flutter in her chest.
“I don’t belong to anyone,” she said weakly.
“Don’t you?” he leaned closer, his breath warm against her cheek. “Because something tells me you know exactly who you belong to. The question is whether you’re brave enough to admit it.”
Brave enough to admit what? That this marriage of convenience has become something I never expected? That I may be falling for a man who thinks he has the right to control my life?
“I should—” she started.
“Should what?” His hand came up to cup her face, thumb brushing across her cheekbone with devastating gentleness. “Should pretend you don’t feel this? Should dance with other men and act as though their touch affects you the same way mine does?”
It doesn’t. God help me, it doesn’t even come close.
“This is neither the time nor the place for this conversation,” she said desperately.
“Isn’t it?” His amber eyes burned with intensity. “Because I’m finding it difficult to think about anything else. Difficult to watch other men look at you and not make it clear that you’re taken.”
Taken. Not married by arrangement, not wed for convenience, but taken. Claimed. Possessed.
“Hugo—”
“I know,” he said quietly, his thumb still tracing patterns against her skin. “I know you’re angry with me. I know you think I’m trying to control you. But in that dress, you are only mine.“
The words hit her, stealing her breath and making her knees weak. Because he was right—she did want to forget every rational objection. She wanted to stop fighting this attraction, wanted to surrender to whatever was building between them.
And that terrifies me more than anything else.
“I need some air,” she said abruptly, stepping back from his intoxicating presence.
“Sybil—”
But she was already moving, pushing through the crowd toward the terrace doors with the desperate urgency of a woman fleeing temptation itself.
Because that’s exactly what I’m doing. Running from the most dangerous man I’ve ever met—the one who makes me want things I swore I’d never want again.
Behind her, she could feel Hugo’s gaze burning into her back, could sense his barely leashed impulse to follow her. But she didn’t look back.
Couldn’t look back.
Because if she did, she might do something truly reckless.
Something like admitting he was absolutely right.