Page 47 of Reluctantly His

Placing my napkin on my lap, I glanced over at my father, but he was busy trying to engage my future husband in a conversation about recent investments.

How was it possible that the world’s most enigmatic, dangerous man had just strolled into the room, giving off waves of heated anger, and I was the only one to pick up on it?

The answer was simple.

Because all that heated anger was only directed at me.

Erotic visions of our last time together warmed my face even further.

The raw sexuality of it. The passion mixed with anger. My own willing submission to his firm hand.

My breath hitched.

I should have hated him for what he made me do that day.

I should have hated him for blackmailing me by forcing me on my knees like a common whore.

I should have hated him for making me come and then deserting me.

But I didn’t. I didn’t hate him for any of those things. I hated him because he made me feel something I didn’t know was possible.

Every time he and I were alone together, he made me feel more.

More energized. More aware. More emotional. More alive!

He showed me things about myself that I would have never known were possible.

Like my attraction to domineering, controlling, Neanderthalish, manhandling bodyguards.

What did that say about me?

That I liked it when he spanked me like an errant child.

I never knew an orgasm could feel the way it did, and I had no idea that men put rings in their cocks. I had so many questions, but the one that kept popping up in my head over and over and over was…

What would it feel like inside me?

I pushed those thoughts from my head and focused on the man who was by my side.

He and my father were talking about expanding Manwarring Inc. into London.

Romney had several ideas that even I knew weren’t financially sound, but my father rather strangely let him keep talking as if he were making sense. Usually, my father would have humiliated the man for stupidly opening his mouth and wasting his time by now. I’d literally seen him make other men cry at events like this.

And yet with Romney, he was feeding the man’s ego by appearing to consider his ludicrous, misguided financial ideas.

Olivia and Luc shot each other dubious looks. They knew far more about business than I did, but it seemed like my instinct was correct.

It was obvious why the Zeiglers were destitute.

Grand ideas and schemes were not the same as financial literacy.

Dinner dragged on, course after course of nothing but the men speaking and the women sitting in silence.

Amelia and Olivia occasionally whispered to each other about how boring and awfully tiresome this dinner was.

Amelia tried drawing me in, but my soon-to-be mother-in-law stared daggers at me every time I dared to open my mouth.

Crap. Was this a glimpse into my future?

---