Page 41 of The Unwanted Wife

A strange look comes into her eyes—one mixed with relief, and a hint of suspicion. So, she does have use for the additional money. Why didn’t she ask me for it in the first place? Haven’t I made it clear to her that her needs are my priority? Probably not. Not with the way I’ve behaved with her. Kissing her, making her come, then walking out on her. I need to make it up to her. But how?

“You needn’t have done that.” She firms her lips. “I don’t need your handouts.”

“Oh, I didn’t do it for you.”

She blinks. “What do you mean?”

“I did it to make sure my future wife wants for nothing. You’re mine. And I take care of what belongs to me.”

“I’m not a possession.” She scowls.

“Oh, you’re more than that.” I prowl toward her.

She stiffens, but when I come to a stop in front of her, she doesn’t move away. I bend my knees and peer into her eyes. “You’re my best friend’s sister.” And the only woman I want in my bed. “Which is why, you realize, I can’t fuck you, right?”

20

Skylar

“What? Why not?” I hear the words coming out of my mouth, and it sounds like I’m desperate. But I don’t care. Until this moment, I wasn’t aware how much I want him to make love to me. He left me in my bed and walked away, but in some corner of my mind, I was sure it was only a matter of time before he did. In fact, the romantic part of me wondered if he was saving making love for the first time on our wedding night. So what if this is a marriage of convenience? The chemistry between us is off the charts, and Nate’s a virile man. He’s not going to deny himself. Not when it’s clear being together is going to be good for both of us… Unless he doesn’t want me?

“You don’t want me,” I say flatly.

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Is it because I’m not the kind of woman you normally go for?”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Oh, you want me to spell it out; fine. I’m a big woman. I have curves. My size dresses are difficult to find. I have large tits and huge hips.”

“O-k-a-y?” He looks genuinely confused.

I squeeze my fingers around my phone. Men. How dumb can they be? Do you have to spell out every single detail to them and slap them over the head with it, and even then, they don’t get it?

“Argh!” I shake my head. Then, with my free hand, gesture to my figure. “I’m a plus-size girl.”

“So?”

“So, I’m fat. And you, clearly, are not the kind of man who wants to bed someone of my dimensions.”

His forehead clears. “You think because you’re curvaceous?—"

“That’s a diplomatic way of putting it.”

“—I don’t find you attractive?”

“Clearly, you don’t. You put me to bed but didn’t undress me. You slept on top of the covers. Then, told me what happened between us was a mistake, and then you left.”

He squeezes the bridge of his nose, his massive chest rises and falls, then he lowers his hand. “Let me get this right. You think I find you unappealing?—"

“You do.”

“—because I didn’t take off your clothes when you were sleeping, and didn’t fuck you while I was at it, and then left in the morning.”

“And you told me it was a mistake.”

“I did not?—"

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