“I’m not your wife,” I say quietly.
Drazen’s jaw sets a little. “We’ve covered that. At length.”
“I don’t remember my life before?—”
“Still not really my concern?—”
“But I’d remember,” I snap coldly, “being married to you.”
“Oh, I’m sure you would,” he says dryly, his lips curling a little. “Now—we have business to discuss. You can do it wrapped in various bits of clothing like a crazy person or dressed like a normal human being. Your choice.”
I seethe. “Dressed.”
Drazen gestures broadly at the plethora of clothes.
“Could I get some privacy?”
“No.”
I shoot him a hard look. Drazen’s face remains immobile.
Nothing he hasn’t seen before, I remind myself yet again. Just the same, my face burns as I march over to the drawers. I pull out the least sexy pair of boy shorts and matching bra I can find.
“Not those.”
I turn to shoot him a look. “Excuse me?”
“Pick something else.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m telling you too.”
My eyes roll. “But why?—”
I gasp as he surges into me. My back hits the wall of pull-out drawers behind me as he cages me in, hands slamming to the wall on either side of me, looming over me.
“You have issues being told what to do, don’t you.”
“It appears so,” I hiss back.
Drazen’s cold blue eyes narrow. “You’ll need to change that. When I tell you to do something?—”
“I’m not one of your men, or your employee.”
“Correct, Annika,” he snaps. “You’re my fucking wife.”
Something electric sizzles through my core when he growls it.
“Oh, and do all wives have to do everything their husbands say?” I mouth back.
“Not at all.” He leans down close, letting his mouth brush my ear. “But mine does.”
He pulls back. My skin is flushed and my nipples are tightening to points as he casually reaches down and plucks the boy shorts and matching bra from my hands, tossing them aside.
“Why are they even here, if I can’t wear them,” I mumble.
“Perhaps later you may,” he murmurs back, pawing through my drawer of thongs. His eyes swivel to mine. “If you’re a good girl who does as she’s told.”