Page 12 of My Ruthless Husband

I bite back a smile when he halts and glances around, likely confused which direction to go. He doesn’t talk to me while he contemplates his options. And I like it. Not the silence. But the fact that he’s still holding my hand.

The touch of his large warm palm against mine feels so good. So right. Unconsciously, I squeeze his hand, making him glance at me. My cheeks heat. “Right this way!” I squeak and start toward my left, dragging him behind me. He lets me without question.

Disappointment hits me the moment we reach my destination and he lets go of my hand, shoving it into his pocket as his eyes scan the place.

I shrug away the hurt and glance around, trying to see the place through his eyes. Right in the heart of the forest is my little magical haven. “What do you think?” I ask, my voice brimming with excitement.

“Is this safe?” He asks gruffly and I can’t help it. I giggle softly.

I touch the ladder and stare up at the treehouse fondly. “It is. Dad had it made by professionals.”

“Do you do this often?”

“Hmm?” I turn my head to him distractedly and freeze. He is towering over me with a clenched jaw.

“Do you bring strangers with you here?”

My heart lurches. “No…”

“That doesn’t sound so sure to me, angel.”

Why does the nickname sound more intimidating than endearing? My skin prickles when I stare up at him through my lashes. He sounds jealous. Instead of irritation, excitement fills me. A series of romantic scenarios begin playing in my head. All of them starring me with him.

My pulse throbs in my neck. “You’re the first.” The first to step into my sanctuary, the one place I escape to when the world feels unbearable.

He’s also the first person to ease the feeling of utter loneliness in my chest.

“I brought you here because for the first time in my life, I…” Inhaling a long breath, “wanted to share this place with someone. With you.”

“Why?”

I shrug my shoulders, giving him a small smile.

He doesn’t say anything. Dropping my heels on the ground, I grab hold of the ladder and start climbing up. Once I’m settled inside, I glance down, expecting to see him still standing below. But instead, he’s already halfway up, his massive frame effortlessly making its way up the rickety ladder, even in that perfectly tailored suit.

He manages to ascend with ease, the wine bottle still firmly gripped in one hand.

He’s ducking his head to step inside when the darkness registers. I’d completely forgotten how pitch-black it gets in here, so I rush over to the corner where I stash the scented candles, fumbling a bit as I quickly light one.

He sits beside me, on the old cushions, his presence dwarfing the space. When his arm brushes against mine, a shiver runs through me. He notices it and shrugs out of his jacket. Then drapes it over my shoulders.

“Thank you,” I say breathily.

He inclines his head slightly in acknowledgment. I clutch the jacket with both hands and bury my nose in the fabric and inhale deeply, my eyes fluttering shut. As I pull away, I realize too late that he’s watching me.

God, I can’t believe I just did that. I probably look like a complete weirdo, sniffing his jacket like I’m obsessed with it or worse, with him.

I clear my throat. “I’m sorry.” My cheeks burn as I add, “I never asked your name.”

When he remains silent, I bump my shoulder with his. “That was your cue to tell me.”

“Damian.”

“I’m River.” I offer him my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

He stares at it for a beat then takes it. Electricity shoots through me like I touched a live wire. And I want more of it. The temptation to hold on longer is strong. Earlier, when he was holding my hand, I squeezed it but I can’t do it again. I jerk my hand away, forcing the sensation to fade, before it has a chance to consume me. “Shall we begin?”

He passes me the bottle. But when I reach to take it from him, he doesn’t release it. “You’re not old enough to drink.”

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