Page 352 of The Christmas Wife

"Can’t see what?"

"This." I gesture to myself. "I’m overweight. I always have been. Nothing I do has helped me get rid of the extra pounds I’m carrying on my body."

He slides his hand inside his pocket, which pulls the fabric across his crotch tight. It outlines the bulge which I’d noticed the time I spilled coffee on him. It only seems bigger… Ugh, I have no business noticing these things about my boss. Except, he’s the one who asked me to get myself off… And I obliged.

How am I going to face him in the office tomorrow? How am I going to get through the rest of this evening, for that matter?"Forget it. I changed my mind. I need off this boat. Can you arrange for me to leave, please?" I turn away, but he curls his fingers around my wrist. A flare of sensations run up my arm. My nipples tighten. A thousand little bees have taken up residence under my skin. I sense him draw a sharp breath, then he releases me.

"Look at me."

The authority in his voice forces me to comply. I slowly glance over my shoulder to find he’s looking at me with a strange fervor, one that raises the hair on the back of my neck. I’m trapped in the vortex of gold, which are his eyes.

"You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I don’t say that lightly."

"Oh." I swallow.

"You’re a real woman, earthy, sexy, voluptuous."

"You mean, I’m fat." I swallow.

"I mean, you're gorgeous. You’re curvy, shapely, full-figured, as Mother Nature intended you to be. The swell of your hips mirrors the beauty of spring, the dip of your waist and the thrust of your tits, hint at the passion within, your luscious thighs promise that softness which is your appeal. Your eyes, your lips, your flushed cheeks, your every inch radiates the appeal of a siren calling to every man in the vicinity."

"Everyone, except you."

"Especially me." His throat moves as he swallows. He raises his arm, then pauses, before curling his fingers into a fist andtucking it back into his side. "You’re perfect as you are, and never let me catch you saying otherwise."

I hold his gaze and sense the seriousness in his eyes, the sincerity writ in every hard angle of his body, the honesty which laces his expression and I know he means everything he said. "Thank you," I say softly.

He nods. Then slides his hand into his pocket and holds up a strip of leather with a circular disc in the center. "What’s that?"

"Turn around."

I do so without hesitation, his earlier words having cut through any doubts I might have had about coming on board this yacht. He places the piece of leather around my throat and hooks it at the nape of my neck. I see our reflection in the mirror on the wall ahead, and the bees under my skin seem to take wing. Edward, in his black three-piece suit and golden tie is the perfect foil for the flaxen color of my dress. He’s tall, stern, all straight lines and angles and dark shadows. I’m a glittering, glowing, shining bundle of sparks. His fingers brush my neck, and goosebumps crowd my skin. He looks up and meets my gaze in the mirror. The air thickens, pulsing with unsaid emotions. There’s a wrinkle between his eyebrows as he peruses our reflection. I touch the engraving on the disc that nestles at my throat. "Is this a?—"

"Fallen angel," he nods.

"It’s pretty," I muse.

"It’s essential, so everyone here knows you’re mine."

A hot sensation stabs into my chest. "I’m y-yours?"

"For the next few hours. It’s necessary."

"Necessary?" I frown. "Why would it be necessary?

"You told me it was necessary, not that it was a collar."

We’re in the grand hall of the yacht. The light is low, and there’s music on in the background. It's very faint and rhythmic, and filled with pounding, pulsing beats which surround me in an intimate, soothing, yet edgy ambiance. He led me through the hall without touching me, but making sure I was close to him at all times. We passed a few couples, and the men eyed me with interest, until their gazes alighted on the band around my neck. At which point, they turned their attention away. That’s when I’d realized the necklace signified possession. I should have felt like an object—Ididfeel like an object—but I was being seen ashisobject, and somehow, that gave me pause.

Edward ushered me to a couch in a corner. A waiter served us. A glass of sparkling water for me and a glass of whiskey for him. When I asked for alcohol, he said he preferred me to have my wits about me. Which wasn’t exactly reassuring. Also, I didn’t notice him giving the waiter an order which means he must have messaged ahead.

Before I can ask him about it, I notice a woman halfway across the room. She’s on her knees, next to a man who’s seated on a couch. He’s talking to a woman in a leather jumpsuit.

The kneeling woman has a strip of leather around her neck with a circular disc on the side. That’s where the resemblance to my accoutrement stops. There’s a chain hooked to her choker, the other end of which is in the hand of the man next to her. He’s talking to the leather clad woman while she stays with her chin lowered to her chest. She’s motionless, but for the rise and fall of her chest. She’s wearing far less than me, and her skirt rides up high, enough for me to see the moisture glistening on her innerthighs. My face grows hot. She’s aroused. And I’m embarrassed on her behalf.

"You don’t need to be embarrassed. She’s content." He takes a sip of his whiskey.

"How would you know?"

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