Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol 1)

Giving up, I tossed the damn shirt in a random drawer. It took me digging through three boxes before I found my robe and headed to the bathroom. Hopefully, a hot shower would burn off the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

The steaming water and vanilla body wash did the trick to bring me back to the calm woman my mother raised. By the time I dried off and wrapped myself in my silk robe, I was ready to face Nico again. This time to have a conversation about our living arrangements like two adults.

At least, until I opened the door to find him pulling out handfuls of my clothes I’d just put away and heading for the door.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I screeched.

He didn’t bother to stop, merely calling over his shoulder, “Moving your shit where it belongs.”

“It belongs where I put it.”

I stormed to the doorway in time to watch him walk the few feet to the master bedroom and listen to a dresser drawer open and slam closed. As quickly as he disappeared, he came around the doorway, storming toward me like I was the next thing he’d pick up and toss in the room.

I clutched my robe tighter and backed away into the room, chin held high. When he reached past me to grab more clothes, I stepped sideways, blocking him. “No.”

“Vera,” he growled.

“Isn’t the whole point of this arrangement for me to gain freedom and get away from everyone dictating everything for me? So, who cares where I sleep?”

“You are my wife.”

I couldn’t help my snort of disbelief, apparently pricking at his male pride. He stood taller—bigger—and for every step closer inching into my space, I crept back until my ass hit the edge of the dresser, and his large hands gripped the wood on either side, pinning me in.

“I’m doing you a favor here, Verana,” he reminded me in a dangerously low voice. Not that my body took it as the warning it was meant to be. My nipples hardened like they were being invited to a party, and I crossed my arms in indignation and shame. “I’m not making you sleep with me, even though we both know you want to. So, the least you can do is share a room with your husband and stop acting like such a fucking diva.”

His eyes dared me to dive into their black abyss, so deep, not even the bedside lamp could touch their depths. They dared me to give in, but I refused. I lifted my chin higher and remained mulishly silent.

“What will people think when they come over and find us in different rooms?”

“I’d be more concerned about why anyone is snooping around our bedrooms.”

“And guests? Where would they sleep?” he asked with less and less patience.

“Please,” I scoffed. “What guests? I have yet to meet a single friend of yours.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked. “And Raelynn? Nova?”

“They can sleep with me. They know the truth.” I shrugged, proud of meeting him argument for argument.

“Stop being so stubborn.” For the first time, he raised his voice beyond the low demands.

So, I raised mine back. “No.”

Another stare-off where the inches of space between us vanished and the heat of his determination clashed with mine.

His lip curled like an animal baring its teeth.

All I had as a final warning was his deep growl. Then those strong arms and large hands gripped my ass as he dipped low and hefted me over his shoulder.

I screeched, my hands both trying to support myself against the flexing ridges of his back and pulling my robe down to cover my ass that felt entirely too much breeze to be covered.

The world turned, and I watched the safe haven I’d planned on being mine for five years get further and further away. I bounced against Nico’s shoulder while he walked me the same way he had my clothes across the hall.

“Dammit, Nicholas fucking Rush. Put. Me. Down.” I punctuated each demand with a small fist to his back. In return, I got a hard smack to my ass, the crack meeting my ears a moment before the sting bloomed on my cheek.

The shock rendered me speechless. Shock that I currently sat atop his shoulder while he dragged me around like a piece of furniture. Shock that he’d spanked me. Shock that the sting faded to a burn that warmed my core, and part of me wanted to keep hitting his back in the hopes he’d spank me again.

All that shock faded in a flash when the room moved too quick, and he whipped me back over his shoulder, tossing me on the bed like a rag doll.

He didn’t give me a second to escape, instead, following me to the bed. He leaned over me, his clenched fists dipping the mattress at my sides. I flipped my hair out of my face and held his stare, a little less sure of my stance than before. All while I did my best to arrange my robe to cover anything important.