Page 149 of My Ruthless Husband

A nervous giggle bubbles up my throat but the second I look at Damian, it dies.

Without a word, he extends his hand to me.

After bluntly kicking me out of the home office because I refused sex, he has the audacity to come here and stake his claim.

I want to shove that hand away, to throw his arrogance back in his face and remind him that I’m not some possession he can control on a whim. But I don’t. I can’t. Damian holds my freedom in his grasp, and we both know it. If I push too hard, he’ll tighten his hold. He can clip the wings I’ve only just started to spread, without a second thought.

With hesitant steps, I move toward him. Déjà vu hits me hard when, instead of taking my hand, Damian’s arm snakes around my waist.

When his possessively splayed fingers beneath my breast move in an intimate caress, I shoot him a startled glance and find him already watching me. He holds my gaze with a silent challenge.

My brow furrows in confusion but then it hits me. I start to pull back as he lowers his head but it’s too late. He takes my mouth in a dominating kiss. His tongue plunges between my lips and I tremble violently. His free hand fists my curls painfully, holding me in place as he deepens the kiss, consuming me in front of everyone.

Each and every person I work with can see us. The thought makes me stiffen.

My face turns bright red when Damian breaks the kiss with an unashamed groan of intense satisfaction.

Then he lifts his head and speaks, “Introduce me, angel.”

I swallow hard, my chest heaving, and follow his gaze to where Matt stands. His face is tight with barely concealed fury, his jaw ticking.

And then it all makes sense. Damian didn’t kiss me for me—he kissed me for Matt.

My heart thunders painfully in my chest as I force out the words. “Matt, this is Damian Montgomery.” When his fingers dig into my skin, I add flatly, “My husband.”

Watching the sheer pleasure gleam in Damian’s dark eyes makes my blood boil. How dare he? That kiss wasn’t for me—it was a show. A cold, calculated move to stake his claim in front of Matt and everyone else. Fury surges within me. I want to shove him away, scream at him for using me like that. But I can’t. Not here. Not with everyone watching. So I swallow the anger, letting it settle like a stone in my gut, my jaw clenched so tightly it aches.

Matt holds my gaze for a moment longer, pain flashing in his eyes before he nods stiffly. “Matthew Lane.”

Damian barely acknowledges him, his focus still on me, as if the introduction was nothing more than a formality. With a firm tug, he pulls me closer, steering me toward the door. “River is going home.” He carelessly throws it in the direction of Laura who is only too happy to accommodate him.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice low and threatening. “You’re in trouble,” he informs me as he picks me up and dumps me inside the car.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Past

Isneak a glance at Damian, sitting beside me in the back of his Rolls Royce. He’s so breathtaking, every angle of his face chiseled like a masterpiece I could never tire of studying. I could spend hours tracing every curve, every hard line of his face, letting my fingers memorize the places my lips crave to touch.

I bite my lip, fighting the urge to reach out, to close the space between us and touch him. I ache to mold my body against his, resting my head on his broad chest, where I know the steady beat of his heart would soothe me. My fingers itch to trace the sharp line of his nose, then glide down to his lips, soft yet strong, before cupping his now stubbled jaw.

But sadly, I can’t. He’s on a business call, his deep voice vibrating through the confines of the car, authoritative and cool.

He’s dressed impeccably, as always, in a perfectly tailored suit that fits him like a second skin. Even sitting still, he’s every bit the man who holds the world in the palm of his hand. He doesn’t even have to try, and yet he dominates every space, every moment.

I squint playfully and lift my hand, letting my finger hover in the air as I trace his sharp nose, the sweep of his brow, the curve of his lips, all without touching him. It’s my own private indulgence, knowing he can’t feel me, but I still get to drink him in. My smile is soft as I reach his mouth, imagining the feel of it under my fingertips.

My eyes drift over my hand, catching the glint of the diamond on my finger, the eight-carat cushion-cut ring and the wedding band sitting right beneath it.

The platinum band is soft and beautiful. But the diamond ring is massive and kind of overwhelming, but it’s mine. Because he gave it to me. And what’s more, it means I belong to him now, in a way no one else ever could.

I’m his.

I’m hiswife.

The thought sends a warm shiver through me, a slow heat that settles in my chest and wraps around my heart. That makes him my husband.

Myhusband.

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