A Debt Owed (The Debt Duet 1)

I don’t want to. I don’t want to think about it because that means admitting that I remember how it took my breath away. I slam a drawer filled with papers shut, and say, “Do you enjoy seeing me suffer?”

He mulls it over for a few seconds. “I won’t deny that it excites me.” He adjusts his tie a little. “But I also want to love you and wrap you in my arms. Yet you won’t let me.”

Him? He wants to love me? Ridiculous. All he’s done so far is hurt me and use me for his own gain. How dare he put this on me and try to make himself the victim in the situation. “No one asked me what I want,” I say. “You’re not the victim here. I didn’t ask to marry you.”

I pick up a random stack of papers off the desk and look through them, trying to find something I can blackmail him with, but it’s only random invitations to someone’s party, a dinner, and a business proposition for one of his clubs. Discovering nothing out of the ordinary and nothing I can use pisses me off so much I chuck the whole stack off the desk, screaming out loud.

“Who would you have married then?” he asks, completely ignoring my outburst. “Was anyone ever good enough for you?”

“No one!” I scream. “I wanted to be free.”

“Free … all alone with no one to love you?”

“I don’t care!” I’m beside myself, and I’m pretty sure my face is completely red by now, but I don’t care about physical appearances anymore. Not in front of him. He’s already seen it all in the bathtub, touched it all in the guest bed … I have nothing left to hide from him. Nothing left that’s completely mine and mine alone.

“I don’t need anyone to love me …”

“You don’t mean that,” he says with a sigh. I hate that he can shatter my beliefs with a single sentence. “Everybody needs love.”

“Not this kind of love,” I say as he comes even closer. In my blinded rage, I managed to wriggle myself into a corner of the room, and now I have nowhere left to go. Nowhere to escape to … because I’d end up right in his arms.

“What kind of love?” he mumbles, lowering his head as he grabs my chin and makes me look at him. “The kind that makes you mushy, or the kind that makes your heart stop and your body tremble?” He softly plants his lips on mine as if to show me he can be gentle too. The first kiss he’s given me that makes me doubt my own resolve.

When his mouth unlatches from mine, it’s as though my whole world has shifted on its axis. His kisses shouldn’t affect me this much, yet I can’t stop my body from wishing he hadn’t stopped.

His fingers slide down my chin and down my neck, all the way to my shoulders and arms, leaving goose bumps in their wake. “You’re looking for the kind of love where a simple touch electrifies your body.”

With his body, he pushes me against the wall, leaning in for another kiss. This time, his lips are on my neck, right below my ear. When his hand slips inside my bathrobe, touching my belly and cupping my breasts, I gasp for air. Sucking in a breath, I try not to be affected but fail miserably.

And he whispers into my ear, “The kind of love that steals your breath away.”

His face hovers mere inches away from mine, and a stare-down of epic proportions transpires. “That kind of love? Because I’m more than willing to give you that kind of love.” He bites his lip, and he’s so close that I can feel his hot breath on my skin. The smell of freshly roasted coffee and crisp toast fills my nostrils, making me want to lean in and have a taste.

But I shouldn’t … not ever, not in my right mind.

“Love needs to be a choice. I didn’t make this choice,” I say underneath a heavy breath. I’m trying not to let him affect me, but it’s so damn hard that I can’t even push him away or stop him from trailing kissing across my collarbone. His hand wraps around my waist, pulling me closer, and the grunt that emanates from his body makes my pussy thump.

No, I shouldn’t do this. It isn’t right.

A sliver of reason returns to my brain, and I lean away from him, shoving him off me. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Give you affection? Make your heart beat faster? Love my wife like I should?”

“Don’t call me that,” I hiss. I hate the word. Hate what it means and everything that comes with it.

“It’s the truth, Charlotte. Whether you like it or not, you are now my wife. And it’s time you understood what that means,” he growls.