Page 83 of Devil's Tulip

“What are you doing?” Her eyes narrow, flicking down to where my fingers are still buried inside her.

I don’t answer. I don’t need to. But as I watch the last of her pleasure-haze dissolve from her gaze, I sigh with regret and pull my fingers out.

“You came inside me,” she says slowly, like she’s processing in real time, her brows furrowing as a look of disbelief washes over her face. Then her golden eyes snap to mine, flashing with something that looks a hell of a lot like betrayal, and my shoulders rise defensively.

“You wanted it too. Begged me for it,” I remind her.

Her lips part.

For several heartbeats, she just stares at me, her mouth working soundlessly as the betrayal on her face morphs into white-hot fury. “You motherfucker,” she finally spits, grasping at the bedcover and yanking it violently off the bed, nearly dragging me to the floor in her flurry.

She wraps the black sheet around her body like armor and jabs a shaking finger at me. “You know I’m not on birth control!”

“Why does it matter now?” I counter, genuinely confused by her reaction. “I’m clean; I assume you’re clean, and we’re married. So what if you get pregnant?” The words sound perfectly reasonable to my ears.

But her whole body jerks, like I just slapped her.

“Crazy bastard,” she snaps, her finger now aiming at the door. “Get the fuck out.”

I don’t move.

Her voice rises to a shout. “Out!”

What the fuck? I shake my head, starting to get worked up myself. What the hell is her problem? I get off the bed calmy—controlled, even as frustration knots tight in my gut. My pants are on in seconds. When I glance back, she’s still glaring, finger still pointing at the door like she’s ready to exorcise me from the room.

For a second, I want to remind her that this isourroom, but the way she’s vibrating makes me hold my tongue. “We’ll pick this up later,” I mutter, stalking out.

In the hallway, I run a hand through my hair, my mind still running circles. Is it because she begged me for it in the heat of the moment? Is that why she’s so angry?

We’re married, for fuck’s sake, so it can’t be that she’s scared she’d have to raise our child alone—she’d have every luxury, every advantage I could provide.

The whole thing makes no damn sense.

I head straight for my office, eager for something to distract my seething thoughts. A short message from Lorenzo is waiting for me, requesting I call him, so I do.

“Michael,” he answers on the first ring.

“Talk to me,” I say, moving my mouse to wake my computer. The screen brightens, and I navigate through the open tabs until I land on the house security feed. When I pull up the bedroom camera, I frown.

Gianna is pacing like a caged tigress, mouth working furiously, hands flailing like she’s in a heated argument—with herself.

Women. Such bizarre, baffling creatures.

“I think I’ve discovered the chain of the drug dilution in the city,” Lorenzo reports. “And there’s been some rumors flying around about us being the suppliers of the drugs. I believe the culprits are the same—they’re aware we’re onto them and are trying to divert attention towards us.”

“Fucking hell. I also got some intel yesterday that our culprit might show up tonight at The Pulse.” A fact I’d almost forgotten, distracted by the dinner and my tempestuous wife. “Where are you?”

“At The Pulse,” he replies.

“Good. I’ll meet you there soon.” We end the call, but I linger, watching Gianna on the monitor for a few more moments. Still pacing. Still talking to no one.

Despite my annoyance, something uncomfortable twists inside me at the thought of leaving her alone when she’s this upset. But I don’t have time to deal with it now. Business first.

With a sigh, I finally get up from my seat, grabbing the jacket off the desk and shrugging it on as I leave the office.

I take the stairs two at a time and walk into the cold night where my McLaren is waiting for me in the driveway.

It takes mere minutes to leave New Rochelle behind and race into Manhattan. The late hour means empty streets, so soon I’m pulling up outside The Pulse, one of Rafael’s numerous nightclubs in the city.

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