He gave her a levelling look. ‘We’d have to prove it.’
Her brows went up. Her eyes went wide. Her heart started to gallop. Her inner core got hot. Very hot. ‘You mean like witnesses or something? Oh my God, I can’t believe this! I’m so not a threesome person. I’m not even a twosome person. I—’ She clamped her mouth shut. She had given away too much as it was.
‘We’ll need evidence that you’re a virgin.’
Angelique blinked. ‘Pardon?’
‘Blood.’ He had his poker face on. ‘On the sheets. We have to display them the next morning.’
She gave him a narrowed look. ‘Whose blood?’
His mouth cracked in a half-smile. ‘Yours.’
Angelique sent him a fulminating glare. ‘I just knew you were going to say that. The only blood I want to see spilled right now is yours.’
‘You’re really hating this, aren’t you?’ His expression was amused.
Her eyes went to slits again. ‘By “this” I suppose you mean this ridiculous subservience.’
He gave one of his loose, get-over-it shrugs. ‘It’s the way things are done here.’
She shook with outrage. ‘But it’s the wrong way!’
‘The women here are happy.’ His voice was calm, measured. ‘They don’t have to do anything but be who they are. They don’t have to primp and preen. They don’t have to have a spray tan every week or put on false nails or colour their hair. They don’t have to pretend they’re not hungry when they’re starving, because they’re not going to be judged solely on their appearance. It is who they are on the inside that matters.’
He was describing a paradise...or was he?
She set her mouth. ‘That’s only because they probably don’t know what they’re missing. If just one woman gets a glimpse of what she could have, you could have total anarchy out here.’
An amused quirk tilted his mouth. ‘And I suppose you’d be out front and leading the charge of that particular riot?’
She gave him a beady look. ‘You’d better believe it.’
CHAPTER FOUR
REMY WAS ENJOYING every minute of his ‘marriage’ so far. It was so amusing to press all of Angelique’s hot buttons. He knew exactly what to say and how to say it—even the way to look at her to get a rise out of her. The reason he knew was because deep down he felt exactly the same.
Marriage was a trap.
It was stultifying. Restraining. A freedom-taking institution that worked better for some than for others.
And he was one of the others.
He didn’t like answering to anyone. He had spent too much of his life living under the shadow of his brothers and his grandfather. He wanted to make his own way, to be his own person. To be known as something more than a Caffarelli brother or grandson.
He didn’t want to be someone’s husband.
And as for being someone’s father... Well, he was leaving that to his two older brothers, who seemed pretty keen on the idea of procreating.
Remy was not interested in babies with scrunched-up faces and dirty nappies; sleepless nights, running noses, temper tantrums. Not for him. No way.
He was interested in having a good time. Playing the field. Working the turf. Sowing his oats—
the wild variety, that was.
And at times his life could get pretty wild.
He loved the element of risk in what he did—scoping out failing businesses, taking chances, rolling the dice. Chasing success, running it down, holding it in his hands and relishing the victory of yet another deal signed and delivered.