A Debt Owed(29)

But no matter how hard Easton tries to make me look at him like I did while I walked down the aisle, I refuse. Not as he holds my hand and professes his love, and not as he takes the rings from my father.

I want to run. Scream. Leave this place and never come back.

Maybe I should.

There’s still time.

Would they be able to catch me? To hunt me down before I’m gone?

Guards are scattered around us. One. Two. No, five. Never mind, more than that, maybe a dozen … or two. Could I escape them all, and would they let me go if I told them the truth?

I, Charlotte Davis, am about to marry a man against my will.

Who would fight for me? Who would defend my honor?

A few more seconds pass, and Easton holds out my shaky ring finger to slide on the ring.

People clap and smile at us, and before I know it, Easton’s placed his lips on mine.

For a moment, I forget everything that’s happening; everyone and everything around me disappears into the distance. All that’s left are me and him and his mouth on mine, drowning away all my regrets, all my sorrows, all my worries.

And then he takes his lips off mine, and the buzzing feeling wakes me up from the haze, reminding me what just happened.

Tears roll down my cheeks. “Don’t cry, princess. You’re mine now,” Easton whispers, and he brushes them away with his thumb. He holds up my hand in the heat of the moment. “Charlotte Van Buren, my wife,” Easton says proudly, and the room claps once again.

Wife.

Charlotte Van Buren.

Those two sentences make me realize I’m too late.

It’s too late to run. Too late to hide. Too late to pretend this never happened.

Because it already did, just like that.

I’m married now, and my life as I knew it … is over.





Chapter 13





Easton



The reception ended fast, just the way I like it, with a few gifts sprinkled here and there courtesy of our guests. I don’t want to waste time on celebrations when I can finally be alone with her … my princess … my wife.

With Charlotte Van Buren finally mine to ravish, I can’t wait to get my hands all over her. A honeymoon isn’t necessary. My mansion will do just fine as I have plenty of ways to spoil her there.

We’re in the limo on our way back home, and my hand can’t stop drifting toward her. I caress her soft arms and slide my hand on top of the fabric of her dress, petting her leg and squeezing it softly.

However, she moves away, clenching her legs as she gazes out the window as if pretending I’m not there. But we both know she’s only avoiding the inevitable. Now that she’s my wife, I have every right to claim her, and she knows this.

She’s holding off because she’s scared, but that’s okay. I’ll teach her everything she needs to know … I may be only a few years older than her, but I have enough experience to know how to make her go crazy.

First, I need to open her up to the idea. Plant a seed of hesitance so she’ll start to doubt her own resilience against my seduction … and then I’ll pounce.

My finger trails along her soft cheeks and earlobe as I admire the diamonds in her ear. They look gorgeous on her, just as everything else she wears. “You looked so pretty out there today. I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

“Is a compliment supposed to make me feel better about this? Because it doesn’t,” she retorts, trying to shift her neck farther away from me, but it only allows me to move closer and caress her neck fully.

“You should be thankful your father’s still alive,” I tell her.

“Oh, I am, but that’s not thanks to you,” she says, licking her lips.

If she thinks she has a say in things, I’ve got news for her because I’m the one in control. I cup her chin and force her to look at me. “If he’s alive, it’s only because I let him live. That’s my mercy. Do not mistake it for your power.”

She jerks free as we arrive at my home. I get out she immediately bursts out after I open her door. I follow her inside, and we stomp up the stairs, where I attempt to grasp her hand. She pulls away and storms to her room.

She may think this is all fine and dandy, but this conversation and my appetite for her are far from over.



Charlotte



“Leave me alone,” I say, trying to get away from him, but no matter where I go, he follows me. I can’t escape, no matter how badly I want to. Fuck.

“You’re my wife now, Charlotte. It’s time you started behaving,” he replies, following me into my room. With him, nothing is private, nothing is sacred, and that scares me … but at the same time, my heart is in my throat at the thought of being in the same room with him.

I cannot give in. My pride is worth more than a ring on my finger.

I spin on my heels, my arms folded as I glare at him. “Yes, I am your wife.” Saying that out loud sounds dirty. “You got what you wanted. What else is there to give? I have nothing left.”

“Yes, you do …” he murmurs, stepping closer into my comfort zone. I grow rigid immediately, overcome by the sheer force of dominance he exudes. “And there is so much more that I want from you.” He tips my chin up, and whispers, “Now kiss me like a proper wife.”