Page 15 of The Reason for His Wife's Return

“I probably should say sorry for my bossiness but I won’t.”

“Lucky for you, I like your bossiness, Dr. Carides.”

Her gaze jerked to his and warmth speared her at the slumbering heat in his. It was impossible to not react, to not feel something in the presence of the very real desire in his eyes.

“Now, please tell me why you felt the need to throw my staff out. If it is so that you could have your way with me, know that I’m most willing in spirit. My body, however, might not quite cooperate just yet.”

“Like I said, you’re mad,” Mira whispered, heat flushing her from within. “Wait a second, so you can’t get it up?”

Dark color streaked his sharp cheekbones. “Of course I can get it up, you wicked woman.” His gaze swept over her, from her hair to her feet, lingering in places, possessively invasive and yet warmly intimate at the same time. “But you will have to do most of the work. At least for today.”

“A few weeks is more like it,” Mira said with a sigh. “You’re clearly not fit for sex or to be here.” She squared her shoulders. “Are you going to fight me on this?”

“I love fighting with you. It’s the only time you play for real.”

Every word, every sentence, every look from him was a tease, a taunt. A double-edged sword dipped in honey that he dared her to dance on. “Why didn’t you let me know how bad the injuries were? I’d have come immediately.”

“Because I do not want your pity. If that’s the reason you’re here, please turn around and go back to your clinic. I’ll have my PA text you as soon as I’m in working order.”

“That’s not how a marriage works,” Mira said. Even the thought of that woman playing intermediary between them made her want to growl. “Even one with a five-year shelf life.”

When she grabbed one of his crutches so that she could hand it to him, his long fingers stilled her.

Storms swirled in those gray eyes, turning them dark as his starkly handsome face drew close to hers. Close enough for her to see the deep lines of strain around his mouth. One long finger traced the plump jut of the veins at her wrist. “I’ll have one of the chauffeurs drive you. Go home and rest, Mira.”

Mira flinched at the dismissal in his tone. “And where’s home? Carides mansion or California?”

“The mansion—your home.” The tips of his fingers danced lightly over the skin under her eyes. “You look like you’re ready to drop out of exhaustion.”

“I’ll rest once I see you settled into your bed.”

“I have attendants and round-the-clock nurses to look after me. You’re not here to play nurse at my bedside.”

“No, I’m here to play wife at your bedside, Aristos.”

“I’m of no use to you until I recover.”

Hurt lanced through her.

Yes, their marriage was a contract because they both wanted children. Because they both wanted a convenient arrangement with none of the emotional hassle. That’s how this had started.

But was it still just that to him, even after that night? Did he think she wanted nothing more of him than his services as a...stud?

She threw the sweatshirt he’d draped over her shoulders back at him, hurt and anger making her movements erratic. “You’re so...arrogant and reckless. You think you’re invincible. But you’re wrong.” She grabbed her handbag then and hitched it over her shoulder.

“Where the hell are you going?” Aristos demanded in a quiet tone, pushing himself to his feet and getting the crutches under him.

“You can’t dictate that I can be your wife only when you’re hearty and healthy. And if it sticks in your craw that much to let me see you like this—” she was shouting the words at him now and God, she never shouted “—then you should’ve thought of that before you decided to drive some beastly car around a curve that kills most men just to show off your macho power.”

“Mira, you’re crying.”

The quiet desolation in his voice perversely made the tumult of her own emotions still. She ran the back of her hand over her cheeks, feeling as shocked as he was.

Around them, evening had given way to twilight. The floor-to-ceiling glass wall behind him showed the city’s brilliant lights and cast dark shadows over his bruised face.

Aristos, in her mind and her heart, was dynamic, impossible to pin down, larger than life. The thought of him stuck under thousands of pounds of hot, scorching metal made bile rise in her throat.

“Come, Mira. Let’s go home.”

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