Page 143 of Be My Wife

Mind-blowing.

Addictive.

But hollow.

It didn’t mean anything.

It’s no different than hooking up with a stranger at a club.

Both knowing it won’t last.

That they’ll never see each other again.

Except this man isn’t a hook up on a wild night out.

He’s my husband.

My husband.

But not for long.

I roll out of bed, glad when Brogan doesn’t stir. Tiptoeing to the bathroom, I close the door behind me and stare at myself in the mirror. My hair stands straight up like a lion’s mane—courtesy of Brogan’s restless fingers.

A flush covers my brown skin.

My lips are bruised. Not surprising given how hungry our kisses were.

I turn my neck back and forth, surprised that there are no other bruises on my delicate flesh. It felt like Brogan was trying to leave his mark all over me tonight. I was sure it would be purple from the neck down.

With a sigh, I turn the faucet on.

The water is cool in my palm.

I collect it and throw it on my face, washing away the musk of our desire.

His scent is still strong in my nose.

Still branding me.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Feel the water drip off my jaw.

More.

I need more water.

I scrub my face with soap.

Chasing the fragrance of our night together makes me feel more in control of myself. I wet my hair next and pull it into a puffy ponytail. There. I no longer look like a woman who was just ravished within an inch of her life.

I look like Elizabeth Garcia.

Like me.

Like the woman who was determined to live her life alone and didn’t trust any man. Especially one who’s glad to be rid of her.

This farce has gone on long enough.

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