Page 49 of Buckled in Barbwire

“Be sure to call once you arrive,” Dad says while tucking me into a farewell embrace.

My smile feels forced. “Fingers crossed there’s reception.”

Dennis grins, giving me a fatherly shoulder squeeze. “No need. Your husband will keep you occupied.”

“Make me a grandbaby,” my mother croons.

“Not gonna happen. Love ya!” I blow Mom a noisy kiss and haul ass to the Escalade.

Leather and luxury swaddle me as I climb inside. The scent of wealth drips off the mirrored ceiling onto the plush carpet. Windows provide a panoramic view. If I’m forced to travel, this fancy ride isn’t too shabby.

Brody follows me in, but sits at the far end of the opposite couch seat. The distance eases the tension radiating between my shoulders. A low groan has me sliding a peek at him. He’s tugging at the knot of his tie and tosses the black silk onto the bench beside him. The top two buttons on his dress shirt are next. I try not to watch the fluid motions but something about him loosening up is very attractive. It alsomakes him appear more… real. He needs to unwind just like everyone else. That doesn’t mean he’s approachable.

The limo pulls away from the curb, leaving Cloverleaf Meadows and my freedom behind. Familiar landscape fades into an unknown blur out the window. Brody doom scrolls on his phone while I stew in silence for a solid hour.

The steady motion and thump from the tires lull me into forced relaxation. My eyelids grow heavy and I rest my head against the cool glass. Maybe I’ll doze for a bit.

“Champagne?”

I jerk upright when Brody’s voice shatters the quiet. He’s holding up a bottle of Dom Pérignon for my inspection. My mouth practically waters at the sight. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine getting the chance to try the expensive label.

It’s difficult to contain my enthusiasm when a giddy squeal is crawling up my throat. “Sure, why not.”

Brody grunts and shakes his head while ripping off the foil. His motions are smooth and efficient as he pops the cork. Not a drop is spilled. I almost want to applaud his talent, but he doesn’t need the stroke to his ego.

After filling a crystal flute to the top, he lifts the glass for me to take. The only problem is that I’m far out of reach. I quirk a brow, not making any indication to change that. Brody doesn’t move either. We stare at each other from opposite sides of the vehicle. Static crackles in the tense pause. This is a power struggle, one of many I picture in our near future.

His stubbled jaw clenches, a muscle leaping under the pressure. He slides along the supple leather to deliver my beverage. I accept it with a victorious smile.

“Don’t say I never did nothin’ for you,” he mutters. It doesn’t escape my notice that he stays in the spot beside me.

“My darling husband is such a sweet man,” I croon in response.

But then my sole focus turns to the Dom now in my clutches. Bubbles tickle my nose and I giggle. I force myself to only take a small sip. This type of delicacy is meant to be savored, and I immediately understand why. Crisp sweetness bathes my tongue in a cool caress that leaves me wanting more. A moan slips free and I don’t even care. It’s just too delicious.

“Good?” Brody’s voice is a deep rasp.

“Heavenly,” I sigh before treating myself to another taste. “Best thing I’ve put in my mouth.”

Brody chokes on his champagne. Green flames heat me to my core when he looks at me. “Challenge accepted, wife.”

I snort into my drink. “Good luck with that.”

“You should know that once my mind is set on something, I don’t give up until it’s mine.”

“Is that what you think I am?” I give him a slow once-over. “Yours?”

“Yes,” he clips. “I have the certificate to prove it.”

“In name only,” I taunt. “That’s all you wanted from me.”

“We’ll see.” He downs his entire glass and pours himself another. “Things change.”

Warmth pools in my belly, but I blame it on the liquor. My gaze wanders from the fizzy bubbles to the bling adorning my ring finger before scanning the Escalade’s posh interior. “Sometimes I forget how rich you are.”

“Weare,” he corrects.

A shrill laugh escapes me. “Um, no. What’s yours is definitely not mine.”

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