Page 35 of The Hollywood Billionaire's Fangirl Wife

She could only smile sheepishly, and his own lips curved.

“Am I allowed to ask what you’re celebrating?”

“Just happy to be your wife.”

Guy glared at her, but this only had Jilly laughing. It was quite easy to see through her husband now, and just as expected—

"Didn't I tell you to stop being this sweet?"

Classic Guy, with his snarling tone at complete odds with his adoring words.

Today was their last day in Foxtown, and their one-week secret honeymoon was nothing short of magical. They had spent every moment together, exploring the park, having sex, talking until the wee hours of the morning, and then having more sex.

A smile touched her lips as she remembered the afternoon they had spent in one of Foxtown’s private libraries, where Guy had surprised her by settling at the grand piano in the corner and filling the book-scented air while he started playing classics from Beethoven to Mozart. They had spent an hour in that library, with Guy playing the piano while she curled up in an oversized armchair reading all about the biggest financial scams in the 19th century.

Guy crooked a finger for his wife to come close, and his heart pounded against his chest at the way his irresistible little wife obeyed him without hesitation.

This was one of the many new things about Jillian that he had not expected, likely due to what he had witnessed in his own parents’ marriage, with every day a battle of wills caused by vengeful pride and bottled-up resentment.

A part of him had already been prepared for the same thing to happen, but instead it was the opposite. Each day drew them closer to one another, both of them learning more about each other, and the more he knew of her, dammit...

The more he was obsessed.

And the more grimly convinced that there was no way in hell he would let her go, even if the day would come that she would tearfully tell him she had made a mistake.

Guy tipped his wife's chin, and the expression on her face was pretty easy to read. "You're calculating again," he murmured.

“It’s a character flaw,” Jilly admitted with a rueful smile. “I can’t help turning everything into data points and probability charts.”

“It’s not something to apologize for," Guy corrected her, "since it's one of the things I adore about you."

Her husband claimed her waist as he spoke, and oh, the way he was looking at her...

Jilly fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. "A part of me still can't believe it, you know. I just don't understand...when you could have anyone."

"That's fine, sweetheart. I prefer that you don't understand at all—"

A choked laugh escaped her.

"—because I like seeing you tormented over me."

"You areso—"

Guy cut her off with a hungry kiss, his hands tangling in her hair as his wife melted against him with that sweet surrender that undid him every time. Her arms wound around his neck as she kissed him back with equal fervor, and within moments he had her pressed against the mirror, his hands roaming her body with reverent familiarity as he rediscovered every curve and hollow that had become as essential to him as breathing.

“I need you,” Guy gritted out.

"Then take me," his wife whispered.

He lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to their bed, laying her down with infinite care before covering her body with his own, and when he finally claimed her with one slow, deep thrust, they both cried out at the exquisite sensation of coming home.

They lay tangled together afterward, breathing hard, her head pillowed on his chest as his fingers traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder, both of them lost in the afterglow of what they had just shared.

"Sleep, sweetheart," Guy murmured.

Shewasa little sleepy, but...

Jilly could feel her cheeks turning pink as she found herself recalling one of their carriage rides through Foxtown's moonlit streets, and how Guy had lookedso,so like the gorgeous and incredibly hot duke that he was that she had, well, shocked both of them by suddenly sliding to her knees on the carriage floor and reaching for the fall of his breeches with trembling but determined fingers.

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