But then Arwen’s father ruined all of that.
This never would have happened if my father hadn’t forced me to marry her. We never would have met, so her fate wouldn’t have mattered to me. People were tortured and killed every day. It was irrelevant.
But even if I could back in time and change things…I wouldn’t.
“So much for working late.”
I turned around and saw Arwen standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest with threat in her eyes. She glanced at the cigar sitting between my fingertips then looked at me with a promise of punishment.
She sauntered into the room and approached my desk. In jeans and a t-shirt, she was prepared for the cool breeze outside the house. Fall was deepening, and now summer was just a memory.
She snatched the cigar out of my hand. “What did we talk about?”
“You’re going to berate me for smoking, but you’re the one who snuck behind my back and cornered my father?” I took the cigar back and placed it between my lips. “I’m the only thing standing between you and Kamikaze. If I want to smoke, I’ll fucking smoke.” I puffed heavily, refusing to participate in this husband and wife routine. She really did feel like the lady of the house.
“If you want to live, you won’t.” She pulled the cigar out of my mouth and stabbed it in the ashtray.
I had all the power in the relationship. I could backhand her across the face and kick her out of my office. I could do anything I wanted, and she would have no power to stop me. But I let her boss me around, let her take away my cigars like she owned me.
“Keep drinking. But stop smoking.”
“Life is short. If the smoke doesn’t kill me, something else will.”
“And what if something else doesn’t?” she questioned. “I need you to live a long and healthy life.”
“Why? With me gone, you would inherit an immense amount of wealth.”
She tilted her head slightly, offended by that statement. “I would rather be poor with you by my side than live in that mansion alone.” Her sincerity was obvious in the tone of her voice, the way she held my gaze with hurt in her eyes.
My father thought I was weak. My sister lived in a different reality. Arwen seemed to be the only person who cared about me for me—with all my good qualities and my flaws. It didn’t seem to matter what I did; her affection was unconditional.
“No more smoking, Maverick. I mean it.” She opened the top drawer of my desk and found my stash of cigars. She grabbed them and dumped them in the scotch sitting beside me.
I stared at the damage then looked back at her. “That’s €5,000 scotch.”
“Then it really taught you a lesson.” She leaned toward me, gripping the back of my chair for support. “Don’t let me catch you smoking again. I promise you’ll regret it.”
I stared into her eyes and watched the fire dance. When I got lost in the beauty of her face, I forgot how much she’d just pissed me off, how she’d destroyed my cigars and my prized booze. All I could think about was the sexy curve of her bottom lip, the way I’d kissed it just the night before. This woman infuriated me, but she somehow earned my respect at the same time.
She straightened and dropped her hand from the chair. “When are you coming home?”
“When I finish my drink and cigar.”
“Well, I took care of that.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Then I guess I’m coming home now.” I pushed the chair back and rose to my feet, my height towering over her petite size.
She tilted her chin automatically to meet my gaze. Her long brown hair was a curtain around her shoulders, and her white t-shirt set off the beautiful color of her eyes. Even when she wasn’t in a ball gown singing her heart out to her admirers, she was still absolutely stunning.
She planted her hand against my chest and rose onto her tiptoes, slowly bringing her lips to mine. When they came together, she gave me the softest kiss, her lips tasting like red wine. She closed her eyes while she enjoyed it, then pulled away.
Kissing her felt natural. Kissing was usually the prelude to sex, but with Arwen, it wasn’t necessarily the prelude to anything. Sometimes, it happened…just to happen. And it felt good all on its own even if it didn’t develop into something more. It was about the affection, the connection.
She pulled her hand away from my chest. “I hope you aren’t still mad at me.”
“You know how stubborn I am.”
“Yes…but I also know how forgiving you are.”
“When have I ever been forgiving?”
“You’ve forgiven me once. You let your father live because you still see the good in him…even if it’s not there. You’re a lot more compassionate than you give yourself credit for, Maverick.”