Page 21 of The Unwanted Wife

Why, that cheeky monkey! I glower at her. "You know, I’m going to get back at you for this, don’t you?"

10

Skylar

Yep, I'm definitely getting back at him for springing this entire ring business on me without warning. He hadn’t mentioned anything to me, not until we were striding into the boutique with the name of a world-famous jeweler on it—one so exclusive, there's only one branch in the entire world and it's in this city. And even then, I didn’t register what he was about to do. Until the man behind the counter slid a velvet tray with a ring on it toward me. At that point, the penny dropped. And even then, I couldn’t chew him out because we were in public. He probably counted on it, well-behaved person that I am.

I went along with the charade, determined to leave without choosing a ring. But when that particular piece was placed in front of me, I knew. And I tried not to show I knew. But he spotted it anyway. He unerringly reached for that ring, and when he placed it on my finger, it felt so right. Both the ring and the man and…

Gah! This is all wrong. I shouldn’t be entertaining thoughts of this man, and how it feels to wear his ring on my finger. How it feels like I belong to him. This is all make-believe, a pretense, a fake relationship. I barely know the man, except that he kisses in a way that knocks all thoughts from my mind. He nibbled on my lips in a way I could feel it all the way to the tips of my toes, to the roots of my hair, to the edges of my eyelashes, and… I’ll stop now. I swirl my tongue around the heap of ice cream in my cone. He shoots me a sideways glance as he navigates through the traffic.

He refused any ice cream for himself, muttering something about how he hates anything sweet—figures. If he did eat anything with sugar, it’d probably caramelize when it hit his cast-iron stomach where, no doubt, the fires of hell are blazing in full force.

I don’t care. More for me to slurp up. And P.S. I’m not holding back my appreciation of my frozen confection, either. Especially not since I realized the effect it's having on him. Each time I lap at my ice treat, he shifts in his seat. Now, when I swallow a particularly big gulp and make an appreciative noise at the back of my throat, he steps on the accelerator. The car leaps forward. There’s a chorus of honking from the vehicles next to us.

"Starling, you’re playing a dangerous game," he says in a hard voice.

A tremor of excitement squeezes my spine. "Moi?" I turn to him with what I hope is an innocent look on my face. "What did I do?" I widen my gaze, then open my mouth and surround the entire top of the now melting mixture.

His nostrils flare. His gaze, as usual, is on my mouth, and my gesture definitely affects him, for his chest rises and falls. Some of it runs down my chin. He sets his jaw, then swerves to the turn lane. Horns blare, and there's a screech of tires.

"You’re crazy," I yell.

"You have no idea." He takes the next turn-off, drives for a few more minutes, then turns again. We’re in a residential neighborhood; he eases the car to a stop on the side of the road, then turns to me. "You’re driving me insane with your little pink tongue, and your slurping and swallowing, and you know it."

"I—"

He raises his hand. "Don’t lie to me."

I glance away, then because the ice cream is melting, and because there's no way I'm going to waste it, I swipe my tongue around the entire outside to catch any drips.

He groans.

I shoot him a glance to see he’s facing forward and squeezing the bridge of his nose. He’s also muttering something under his breath. I catch the words "fuck" and "bloody" and "buggering hell." Okay, then.

I crunch down on the cone, and he widens the space between his legs. I lower my gaze to his crotch and forget to eat. If there were one thing that I’d like to lick and swallow more than an ice cream cone, it would be that thick rod-like appendage outlined between his massive thighs. Some of the ice cream slides down my fingers and plops on my jeans.

"Oh no, no, no." I grab a napkin from my purse and dab at the blot on my thigh, only my hand tips, and the rest of the ice cream oozes down my knuckles, headed for my jeans.

Before it can hit my thigh, he reaches over, circles my forearm with his thick fingers, brings it toward him, and licks his way up the back of my hand. Goosebumps pop on my skin. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I draw in a sharp breath as he continues to lave his tongue over my fingers, then closes his mouth around my cone and bites off the rest of the ice cream. Only then, does he look at me. Our eyes meet, and something sizzles in the space between us. The air thickens as he chews, swallows, then slowly straightens.

I lean forward, closing the distance to him until my mouth is in front of his, until our breaths merge, and our eyelashes tangle with each other. Until I can count the individual lines of the wrinkles that fan out from the edges of his eyes. Until I can make out the golden flecks in one eye and the silver sparks in the other. Mesmerizing, haunting, striking. So distinctive. And a tad disturbing.

There are depths to this man, parts of him he’s hidden away from everyone else, and I want to reach them. I want to break down the walls he’s put up against the world. I want to shatter his defenses. I want to push past his aloof exterior. I want to get a rise out of him. It’s why I’ve been teasing him by licking the ice cream, knowing it was affecting him—which is a surprise. One which I have to leverage because I’ll use every advantage I can get with him.

He’s taller than me, stronger than me, has seen more of the world, has more experience, and thinks he holds the upper hand in this situation. And maybe he does… For now.

Doesn’t mean I’m going to allow him to bend me to his agenda. Doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun while trying to worm my way under his skin. I glance down at his mouth, and one side of his lip curls. That sneer of his should not be so attractive. It should not make me want to trace the outline of his lush lower lip and rub his thin upper one. It should not make me want to throw myself at him and crush my mouth to his. It should not?—

There’s a banging against his window.

I flinch. He pauses, his gaze boring into my face, until he slowly turns.

A uniformed parking warden motions him to lower his window. When Nate does, he looks between us. "Everything okay?" he asks me.

"Yes." I clear my throat.

He glares at Nate. "You're in a no-parking zone, Sir."

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