Page 91 of The Christmas Wife

Once in the kitchen, I dispose of the used condom, along with the remnants of her clothes. I clean up any chocolate within reach of his short, little legs, then top off the food and water bowls for Max, who scrabbles in and attacks the food like he’s been starving. Speaking of, I need more of her. Fuck, this is ridiculous. I drag my fingers through my hair.

I've been away from her for a few minutes, and already, I miss her.

That sensation when I was inside her…? Fuck. It was…different, yet familiar. Like coming home. Home? What the fuck? I shake my head. So, the sex had been intense—more intense than any experience I’ve ever had before—it means we’re compatible in bed. So, I’ll fuck her, give her pleasure, make her orgasm more than she has ever before. I’ll ensure her time with me is the single most incredible experience of her life, that it spoils her for any man after.

The band around my chest tightens. Of course, there’ll be men after me… She isn’t mine…except for the length of this time that I’ve bargained from her. For the days that are left, I can make good on my promise. I can protect her, take care of her every need, treat her like the princess she is. And when we are done… I’ll walk away without a second thought.

I clench my fist at my side. Why the hell does it matter to me what she does after that, huh? I’ll use her for my needs, then leave. It’s what I do best. No commitments. Nothing holding me back. It will be a great break. I glance down at my hand with the splint… And the sex will, surely, only help the healing, huh? My heart hammers in my chest. So why the fuck am I standing here in the middle of the kitchen, still naked?

I straighten, march toward the door, when a scream sounds from the direction of the bedroom. I race forward.

24

Amelie

I stare at the spider that crawls across the floor. My skin feels too tight, my stomach twists in knots.

Shit, I can face grown chefs having a tantrum, or irate clients. Hell, I’d even face an alphahole who wanted to force me to submit. But the creepy, crawly, eight-legged species…? Gross. I could do without them. My pulse races, my heart hammers, and adrenaline fills my blood. I glance around, then spot the towel and snatch it up. I hold it out in front of me, sidle toward the exit, when footsteps sound and Weston’s massive figure fills the doorway.

"What’s wrong?" His chest heaves, his gaze alert. He has the fingers of his uninjured hand curled into a fist. Huh?

"The hell?" He stalks inside.

I glance down and scream again.

He flinches, "Jesus, woman, why are you having a breakdown?" He pauses mid-step.

"That…" I point my towel at the floor in front of him.

He glances down, then lowers his foot…missing the spider by an inch. A breath whooshes out of me.

"It’s… it’s…" I gulp.

"A spider?"

"Eek." I sidle back from both of them… "Please, can you get rid of it?"

He glances down at the bug, which scuttles toward me.

I scream, then dance around it in a wide circle that places me directly in front of Weston. "I hate those things," I whine.

"All that sass and spirit... I thought you were a spitfire, then along came a spider and frightened little Miss Muffet away."

I blink a little. "Did you just compare me to another nursery rhyme?"

"Can’t seem to make up my mind about you, huh?" His warm palms descend on my hips. He lifts me up—like literally snatches me up from the floor—and plants me at his side.

My belly and other parts of me flutter. Shucks, every time I try to hate him…he disarms me…shows a part of him that unnerves me.

He grabs a tissue, scoops up the insect then heads for the doorway.

"Wh…where are you going?"

"To get Miss Muffet’s spider outside."

"Oh." My cheeks heat. "Won’t you be, ah…?" I look his gorgeous, unclothed figure up and down, and all thoughts leave my mind. OMFG, he’s…hot. I mean, I knew he was and yep, he’s had his cock and tongue and fingers inside of me… But when he flaunts his eight pack and those powerful thighs and the—uh!—all of him in full-frontal, then… Well…Uh, what am I trying to say? I blink.

"I’m beginning to think you prefer the sight of my dick to my face."

---