Fiance Next Door

“Mason,” I cut him off. “I’m not asking for more money. In fact, I’m wondering if you should be giving me any.”

His eyebrows crease. “But of course I should be. You’re my wife.”

“On paper,” I remind him. “And not forever, just for a while. I’m not so sure you should be spending on me.”

I’m not a profitable investment, so to speak. As a businessman, he should know that.

He leans forward and holds my gaze. “Aster, if you’re saying you’re not going to accept a single cent from me, I won’t have it. To the world, you are my wife. I won’t have anyone think I’m a man who doesn’t know how to take care of his wife.”

Right. He has a reputation to uphold.

He pats my hand. “So long as your last name is officially Burke, you’re going to have all the money you need, whether it’s to buy shoes or diamonds or a bottle of shampoo or for charity.”

Charity? I hadn’t even considered that.

“You mean I can give away your money?”

“To good causes,” Mason answers. “I know you must have some close to your heart.”

I do. Families of people with Alzheimer’s. Dog shelters. Single parents. Budding artists.

I look at him. “You mean it?”

“Of course. You want to help people with my money, go ahead. Just leave a few millions for me.”

My eyebrows furrow. “Very funny.”

He grabs my hand. “My point is that money isn’t an issue. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

I nod. “I just feel guilty, I guess. I got you into this marriage, so I feel like I don’t de – ”

His finger presses against my lips. “We got into this marriage. We’ll both get what we can out of it, okay?”

I open my mouth to answer but Mason’s finger is still there. I close my mouth again and his finger moves down. It hangs on my lower lip as his eyes gaze into mine. Burning. My cheeks catch fire. Heat simmers in my veins.

I look away but my eyes only end up resting on his parted lips. As the tip of his tongue pops between them, a buzz of excitement goes down my spine. I move my gaze lower but then I end up staring at his chest. I find myself wondering how he’d look without that shirt on.

Mason grasps my chin and strokes it with his thumb. My eyes turn back up to collide with his. I swallow.

“Though if you feel like you owe me, I can think of something you can give me,” Mason tells me, his voice a tad deeper. “Something a wife can give her husband.”

The tip of his thumb brushes against my lower lip. It presses down and pushes forward to bump against the wall of my teeth. They part slightly and his thumb pushes in further. It touches the tip of my tongue and heat swirls in my chest. I can’t breathe.

I can feel more of it coming from Mason, threatening to take over me. I can feel my body wanting to surrender to the magnetic force. I manage to pull away, though.

What? He wants me to be his whore? Is that why he said no cheating? Well, I won’t agree to it. No way.

I get off the couch. “Good night, Mason.”

I turn on my heel and head towards the door.

That’s right. Walk away, Aster. Ignore those eyes still following you. Ignore the pull. Go to bed. Sleep.

And hope that tomorrow, you’ll have put this behind you.

~

To my frustration, I haven’t. I only catch a glimpse of Mason while he’s on his way to work in a fresh suit, but that’s enough to trigger the memory of that moment last night, to trigger a response from my body.

Why? Is this my body’s way of telling me that I’ve been a virgin for far too long? Is this its way of rebelling against me because I’ve been depriving it of what it’s made for?

And why Mason? Is it because he’s had a hold on me ever since he stole my first kiss? What was that, planting his flag on his territory?

Hell, no. I don’t belong to him. I may have his last name now, but I’m not his. And I don’t intend to be, not when I don’t love him, not when I know we’ll part ways eventually.

I’m not going to give in to Mason.

So forget his gaze. Forget the heat. Forget the buzz from his fingertips. Forget…

My thoughts halt as my eyes rest on the flash drive on the coffee table. Isn’t that the same one Mason was toying with last night? I’m pretty sure it is.

My eyebrows arch. If that’s the case, isn’t that important?

I pick it up and run to the elevator, the one that leads to the lower floors.

“What’s wrong, ma’am?” Frank asks me as I stand in front of it.