Page 31 of Resisting Royal

CHAPTER 16

ROYAL

I chuckled to myself as I plated the food, dividing the simple pasta dish between three plates. My little wife looked so adorable in her oversized frumpy robe and her chalky green mask. I didn’t miss the royal shade freshly painted on her toes, either. I was getting to her; there was no other explanation. None I would accept anyway.

Even with her hair in a towel, her face covered in clay, and the giant robe she wore, I wanted her. I wanted to pull the flimsy tie on the robe and push it off her shoulder, exposing the luscious curves that taunted me through the robe’s gap. Fuck, if she wasn’t the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

The most beautiful thing I’d ever seen who wasn’t wearing my ring. That little detail didn’t evade my notice and it stung a little. But I didn’t blame her. I knew I might have twisted her hand into this relationship. Okay, there was no might about it, I did twist her hand, but in my defense, the moment I realized who she was, I had to have her. The way her smart little mouth talked down on me in her office had her passing my mind all afternoon. The daughter of the man who owed me more money than his life was worth? That wasn’t a coincidence, that was fate.

She no doubt didn’t view it that way. In fact, given her resistance, I would dare to guess that maybe she saw this whole marriage as a chore. Doing her part to save her father’s life and keeping her obligations at the bare minimum. But I didn’t want to be an obligation. I wanted to be her fucking inspiration!

The reason she breathed.

The very thing that made her heart stutter.

The force that drove her forward, and I didn’t mean while my body was pushing into her in a vigorous state. However, I wanted that to fucking happen, too. Soon. Now. Shit . . . that wouldn’t happen anytime in my foreseeable future, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Bianca could barely tolerate me, even when she did fucking want me.

And she did.

I could see it in the way her breath hitched when I got too close. I could feel it in the way her body molded to mine, and her lips hungrily sought my kisses instead of disputing them. She fucking wanted me as much as she hated every breath that I kept on taking.

The movement at the door caught my eye, and my head turned, facing my wife, who was sans mask and dressed in a set of pajamas. “If you think wearing pajamas would deter my thoughts from where that kiss was going, you would be so very wrong, wife.”

“If you think that we were going to pick up where we left off after dinner, you would be so very . . . very wrong, husband.”

I laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good.” She pushed back her sleeve and looked around, almost nervously. I saw the moment she registered the third plate, and relief took over her posture. “Greta is joining us?”

“The senior center has kicked her out for the night.” I pulled some silverware out of the drawer. “Are you disappointed?”

“More like relieved,” she mumbled under her breath.

“What’s that?” I knew damn well what she had said.

“I was just saying how excited I am to get to know your mother more. She’s so busy, and I feel like for two people living under the same roof, I’ve sure missed her comings and goings often enough.”

“I bet.” I pulled out her chair and gestured for her to sit. “If you like, I can arrange more home time for her—or myself—if you’re lonely.”

She took the offered seat. “How can I be lonely if you are always having me babysat?”

“Amore, my sweetest of loves, I wouldn’t call it babysitting. I call it protecting. Plus, they are under specific instructions not to interfere with your day.”

She pulled her cellphone out of her pocket, holding up a display of text messages. I leaned in close, feeling a bit of jealousy taking hold. “You might want to let Troy know because he blows up my phone all day long, telling me my sweater is ugly, and my shoes are a quarter-inch shy of being hooker heels.”

“In all fairness, he isn’t wrong. The first time you took those suckers off, I was shocked at how short you really are.” But man do I love those heels. I’ve envisioned them in many ways throughout the day. Spread wide with my body kneeling between them. Crossed behind my back. Opened wide with me cradled between her thighs. I cleared my throat, hoping she didn’t know the direction my mind was going. “But I will talk to him.”

I picked up my own phone and sent him a text. I received an instant response. A few seconds later, her phone buzzed. She read it, took a picture of her flipping off the screen, and then sat her phone down. I stared at her questioningly, and when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to offer an explanation, I asked. She glared back at me as she answered. “He called me a tattletale.”

What am I even dealing with here? “A tattletale?”

“Yeah, like a snitch. A whistleblower.” She looked at me, exasperated. “Were you raised under a rock?”

What does how I was raised have to do with it? “No. I was raised by Greta. Mostly. Well, from the time I was fourteen anyway.”

She looked genuinely confused. “Wait, Greta isn’t your mother?”

“She is,” I confirmed.

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