Page 36 of Red

He shut the door to the car and reached over to her hair, plucking out some of the pins.

“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to smack his hands away.

“Why do you twist it all up like this?” He continued on his mission until all of her red spirals were fanned around her shoulders.

“If you wanted it down, you could have just asked. You don’t have to paw at me like some”—she blinked—“wolf.”

He laughed and dropped the pins into her hand. “Fair enough. I’ll ask next time, though I would rather you never put it up. I like having it down, ready for me to touch.” He picked up a curl and ran it between his fingers.

“I’ll try to remember that,” she said, twisting in her seat and smoothing the skirt beneath her legs.

He silently observed her as the car maneuvered through the city traffic. The streetlights lit up her face as they passed, accentuating her high cheekbones and the subtle slope of her nose.

“That guy, the one who came up to us at the party. He wants to buy me?” she asked. “Fuck, what an absurd notion, buying a person. And me, it’s me we’re talking about.” She laughed a little with no humor but chock-full of anxiety.

He palmed her knee. Even through the fabric of her dress, he felt the tremor.

“No one’s buying you, Melinda. That’s off the table.” How could it ever have been on the table? One look at her at her grandmother’s house, and he’d known she was different. Somewhere inside him, a spark had lit, and no matter how much he’d been trying to stamp it out, it only grew brighter with each encounter with her.

“Oh, really?” She added a quirked eyebrow to her frown. “I thought I got to choose.”

He inhaled a long breath. “I changed my mind,” he said. “I told you about my uncle’s requirements. Us getting married fixes things. So, tomorrow, we’ll get married.”

“Just like that?” she asked, but she didn’t move his hand from her knee. Progress.

“Just like that.” He nodded.

“How does it fix things for me exactly?” she asked, unleashing more accusations with her tone.

“Because men like Bertucci don’t just give up. He’s expressed interest in you, and if we aren’t married, you aren’t protected from him.”

She looked away, the light catching the unshed tears clinging to her lids. He recognized the helplessness of her situation. She had no actual recourse. He understood. His future had been mapped out for him since childhood.

His mother had thought she’d escaped the horrors of being Kristoff Komisky’s little sister when she married Travis Rawling, but she had been wrong. Erik grew up being groomed with two separate ideals. His parents who wanted him to follow the path of the Rawling name into business and financial trade, while his uncle exposed him to the underworld and taught him the realities of his bloodline.

He hadn’t been taken by force the way Melinda had been, but he’d been given no choices. His future was laid out for him, and when his parents died, followed shortly by his uncle, his destiny had been cemented in place. The only way for him to get out from beneath the heavy shroud of sin attached his to his family because of his uncle’s betrayal of his partners was to continue forward. To remove the choice from Melinda’s hands.

He played with the hem of her dress, running his fingers along her silky skin beneath. “I know it’s not what you want, but it’s what is going to happen.”

She took a shaky breath and sniffled. “And the rest of my life? How does that look when I’m your wife?”

He detected a strong undertone of sarcasm, but there was something else, too. Something hinting at curiosity. He wouldn’t go so far as to think she was caving. She wasn’t that simple. She would fight him every inch of the way, but she wanted to end up exactly where he’d put her. She wanted it and hated wanting it at the same time.

Erik brushed his fingers across her thigh. “Similar to the past few days, but with more freedom.” He smiled. “You wouldn’t be caged in the house, but I would expect to know where you are.” He crooked his neck. “For safety of course.”

“Safety? I thought once I was your wife, I would be safe?”

He turned in his seat, moving his free hand to her shoulder.

“You will be. But, like you mentioned, Bertucci has some interest in you, and he’s not going to like having his toy snapped out from under him.”

The muscle in her neck softened beneath his touch.

“I can pursue my writing?” she asked softly, looking down at her lap.

He outlined her earlobe. “Of course. I never took your computer away from you, and I won’t.” As his wife, she would never have need of a job, but he wouldn’t tamp down her passion.

“My grandmother.”

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