Page 10 of Forbidden Desire

“I gotta go,” I announce, the panic rising in my voice. “Call you later.”

With a tap, I end the call and drop the phone on the counter. It falls down to the floor with a couple of thuds that echo too loudly in the silent suite.

Get a grip, Bianca. I brace myself against the smooth marble countertop, my hands gripping its cool surface. After heading into the other room, I open my laptop.

My pulse slams in my wrist while my shaky fingers fly over the keyboard, tapping into the county records, and waiting for the document to load.

And there it is. A page with our names on the glowing screen—as real as the dress hanging over the bedroom chair.

“Shit.”

The certificate is ornate and official, containing both of our signatures. Mine in elegant script, Zack’s in bold capital letters. It’s a union of opposites—not just on paper, but in every way imaginable.

I close my eyes, pushing away thoughts of him—the heat of his skin against mine, the intensity in his glowing eyes, and the taste of tequila on his lips.

Stop it. This isn’t about attraction. It’s about damage control.

I steady myself, taking a deep breath as I silence the mayhem in my mind while ignoring the sinking sensation in my gut. I need a plan, a strategy. Until then, no rash decisions—just calculated moves.

Would an annulment work? Yes—just a simple, quiet cancelation of the marriage.

No, what am I thinking? Marriage today, annulment tomorrow?

The media would eat it up. And my club, my Fitzgerald’s, would be at the center of the controversy. No, I won’t give them that satisfaction.

Shaking my head, I catch a glance at my panicked reflection in the mirror. It shows the determination in my eyes, but it also displays the fear—the rampant fear of falling into a trap with the one man who could make me forget all my rules.

Zack Wolfe, what have you done to me?

Chapter 5

Zack

Whilepacingthelengthof my home office, I glance through my floor-to-ceiling windows at the Vegas skyline as evening arrives. One by one, each ornate building turns on its glowing lights, but the view can’t hold my attention tonight, because all I can think about is her—Bianca.

The memory of our accidental wedding is an itch I can’t scratch away. I married her and foolishly skipped the best part—the moment where she opens her legs for me.

I want her—badly, and it’s more than physical. It’s all-consuming.

Damn it. I shouldn’t have left her this morning without satisfying my needs. By the expression on her face, she had wanted it too, just as much as I did.

Decision made, I grab my keys and head out. My Lamborghini roars to life, a beast eager for the chase. As I drive towards Fitzgerald’s, my grip on the steering wheel tightens. While I hate the idea of stepping into her territory and giving her the upper hand, desperation makes a man do foolish things.

The neon sign of Fitzgerald’s blazes against the darkening Vegas sky. I despise the fancy, upscale vibe of this club, but it’s where she is. I push through the velvet ropes, ignoring the murmurs of recognition.

A bouncer smirks as he unhooks the rope. “Mr. Wolfe, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

I don’t bother with a response.

Inside, the chandeliers glow over the refined crowd. Laughter and clinking glasses fill the air, but it gets quieter as all eyes turn to me. I ignore it and stride toward the back, my pulse quickening with every step as I get closer to her office.

I knock once and then enter without waiting for permission. Power move.

There she is. Bianca stands by the window, a vision in a form-fitting dress that stresses every curve. Her mane cascades down her shoulders in loose waves, framing her tan complexion and showing off her addictive caramel eyes.

My heart hammers in my chest as she draws me in. I swallow and play it cool, even though my manhood twitches against the fabric of my suit pants. “Honey, I’m home.”

As she stands up straighter, she’s not laughing. In fact, she looks downright serious. She peers into a distant corner of the room before she looks at me with a crease in her brows. “Did you know we’re married for real?”

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