Page 158 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
Dorian’s voice is as deep as it low, scraping across my spine like a caress and a curse.
He strides into the living room, every inch the man who bends cities and boardrooms to his will. The sun casts sharp lines across his tailored charcoal suit. His tie’s loose, enough to suggest that the edges he has over his control are fraying.
The air temperature chills another ten degrees, and I put my drink down on the coffee table before I spill it.
Without hesitation, he crosses to me and takes my shoulders. His grip is strong but not quite painful as he rakes his gaze over my face. “Did he hurt you?” His demanding voice is a whiplash of fury.
Brennan answers before I can. “He never touched her.”
Dorian’s jaw flexes as he looks at his partner. “If he did, he’d be dead.”
“Yeah. He would.”
I shiver and look between them. Their eyes are dark and damning.
Jesus.
They both mean every word. They’d kill a man for touching me.
My stomach turns.
Dorian’s eyes lock with mine again, searching. Not forbruises. For damage. He looks like a man at war—one whose enemy might be standing right in front of him.
I don’t want to need him. Don’t want to lean into the comfort of his grip.
But I do.
God help me, I do.
Even though it costs me all my resolve, I straighten and pull back.
He lets his hands fall away slowly. Measured. As if he knows that holding on too tight right now might break the fragile bond between us.
He moves to the opposite side of the bar, mirroring Brennan. We’re a triangle, and the tension is palpable.
Neither of them wants to open the conversation, leaving it to me. “Tell me who she is.”
Dorian’s jaw tightens again.
“I asked Brennan.” I can’t keep the bitterness from my tone. “But evidently you’re the one who decides what I get to know.”
Shoulders tense beneath his perfectly tailored suit, Dorian flattens his hands on the top of the marble bar. I’d expected him to rise to my bait and lose his temper, but he doesn’t. If I wasn’t so in tune with him, I wouldn’t have noticed the tiny tic at his temple that warns me to watch my step. But today, for the first time, I’m feeling slightly reckless.
My voice cuts through the stillness like a blade. “Tell me what the hell is going on. And if you don’t, I will find out on my own. I want to know why a reporter shoved a camera in my face and asked about a woman I’ve never heard of.”
Dorian doesn’t respond right away. He just looks at me. The weight of it pins me in place.
“Because you’re my wife and I’m planning to run for Senate.”
“And the things in the dossier, every bit of your dirty laundry, will be dug up and dragged through the press.”
“The reporter was freelance.” Slowly he exhales.
Then, at his nod, Brennan goes on. “The best my team can ascertain, he was fed a tip by the sitting senator.”
“I’m still confused.”
“We believe the information came from a man named Marco Gallo.”
