Page 31 of My Ruthless Husband

I place the juice on the rack before uncapping the water bottle.

When he goes to button it, I cover his hand.

He finally glances at me. I pull his hand free from where he’s holding the shirt button so I can hand the bottle to him. Or at least try to because he resists it.

“Drink,” I mutter quietly then try to pull his hand again but he doesn’t let up.

I look up at him and find his black eyes focused on me. I tug again and he resists again. I just want him to hand the bottle and get out of here so I could escape his probing eyes.

“Damn it, Damian, I didn’t poison it.” I yank his hand again. He has slammed down his defenses again but I won’t back down. I won’t cower away this time.

“You sure?”

I jerk when he speaks.

“Yes. Now drink it—” I trail when he edges closer. I am so much smaller compared to him. His hard body invades my personal space. I suck in a harsh breath and stare up at him.

“How can I trust my wife, who seems so eager to leave me? What if you did poison it to get rid of me.”

My lips part. “Do you really believe I would do something like that?”

He takes another step forward and traps me against the wall. He isn’t touching me but his black eyes caresses my face then my body which is still clad in a bathrobe I slept in.

“I don’t know, angel. I used to believe you’d never leave me, but you did. I never thought you’d be sneaky enough to spike my soup with sleeping pills, but you did, didn’t you?”

“I did that because you left me no choice!” I sputter with anger and hurt.

He braces one hand on the wall beside me. “Is that right?”

“Yes! You know it is.” How could he even entertain the idea that I’d stoop to something so cruel? My love for him is undeniable, and the notion of intentionally causing harm to anyone much less him is repulsive to me. Doesn’t he see who I am at my core? Yes, I drugged him, but it wasn’t driven by malice. The desperate act was my only way to break free, even though every ounce of my being had rebelled against the very thought of doing that.

“Prove it then.” He clutches my hand holding the bottle and lifts it.

Seriously? This is what I get for caring. I don’t even know if he is being defensive or he actually thinks I poisoned the water but anyway, I’m going to prove it.

Locking my eyes with his, I bring the bottle to my lips and take a swig. And because my throat was parched, I down half the bottle without realizing it. “Happy?” I ask, licking my wet lips.

His eyes darken. A small part of me is aware how close he is. How his shirt is still unbuttoned and the sides of his shirt is touching my quivering chest. I inhale sharply and immediately regret it. The scent of his shower gel mingled with his male scent creates an intoxicating allure that makes it hard for me to focus on the situation at hand.

Despite his hurtful assessment about me, I can’t deny the magnetic pull I feel toward him. His dark, intense eyes bore into me and something familiar begins to brew in me.

I try not to gaze at his sculpted chest. Try not to think about the conflicting emotions of anger, desire and lingering hurt. In his close proximity, locked in this intimate space, memories of our making love begin to surface in my mind. This proves that despite everything, my feelings for him still runs deep.

“What’s your game, angel?”

“My game?” I ask with hurt in my voice. “You had a nightmare, Damian. I was so worried so I rushed to get you something to drink to help you calm down.” I lower my eyes. “I can’t see you suffer.”

He steps back. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Pity?” This time, I erase the gap between us. “You think I pity you?”

He remains silent and my vision blurs. “Pity is the last thing that drove me to run around first thing in the morning like a crazy woman for you.”

“Then why did you bother yourself with it?”

“Because I care about you!” My chest heaves as I cry out. “I still do. Even after I know you never loved me. I can’t just turn off my feelings.”

“Hmm. So you still love me.”

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