Page 42 of Possession

He lets me go immediately and stands, stalking to the lounge to grab my towel. He holds it out in front of him and growls, “Get out.”

After the last week, I’m not sure why this is the battle I’m willing to fight. It’s probably because I know I would never win any other one. “No.”

He flicks the towel he’s holding between us and narrows his eyes. “Get the fuck out. I have a call that I’m already late for. I don’t want you out here by yourself.”

“I’m no Olympian, but I can swim, Boz. You told me to find something to do, and I did. I don’t need a lifeguard,” I snap.

He lowers his voice to a menacing growl. “That’s exactly what you need, chica. Get out of the fucking pool, or I’ll pull you out myself.”

My eyes widen. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me. See how happy I’ll be then.”

“Wait. You’re serious?”

“We don’t know each other well yet, but you need to get it through your head that you’re married to a serious fucking guy. I’m also lacking patience as of late. Don’t make me tell you again.”

I stare up at the man who claims to not be a bucket of fun.

He holds my gaze, and I try not to think about how the afternoon California sun makes his skin even more beautiful than it normally is.

Instead of arguing further, I put my hands flat to the edge of the pool and push myself up. Boz’s eyes drag down my body as I stand in front of him still holding out the towel.

I don’t reach for it and feel confident in my very skimpy bikini. It’s one I would have chosen had I been granted the choice. I wore things like this all the time in my previous life.

You know, like last week.

“Just so you know, I was about to get out anyway. I need to get ready for our dinner. I wouldn’t dream of being late.”

He shakes his head once, and before I know it, I’m wrapped in an enormous towel and the thick arms of my husband. He pulls me flush to his chest—I’m sure his pristine outfit will be wet, but that’s on him. My arms are pinned, and I’m held hostage in a whole other way.

Strangely, it doesn’t feel horrible.

He lays down the law … again. “No more swimming by yourself.”

Water drips from my face, but I don’t blink away from his gaze. “Who am I supposed to swim with? June and Miranda want nothing to do with me. Trust me, I tried to talk to them. I doubt the old butler guy wants to take a dip. That leaves all your men who pop out of the woodwork with guns. I don’t want to hang out with them.”

“You’re not to speak to them,” he bosses.

“So that leaves me with no options.”

“That leaves you with me,” he pops back.

I try to shift in his arms, but he holds tight. “Right. Between planning funerals, hosting drug lords for dinner, and being the grumpiest husband on the planet, when will you have time for me?”

“Torres.”

Boz shifts us, and we both look to the side. It’s one of the men who like to pop out of the woodwork during stressful situations. He’s probably always watching.

“Yeah?” Boz answers.

“Your call with the funeral home is waiting.”

He gives him a chin lift before turning back to me. This time, his hand comes up to frame the side of my face as I feel him fist the towel at my back, causing it to tighten further.

Then he takes my breath away.

He doesn’t taste the skin below my ear.

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