Brutal Vows (Queens & Monsters #4)(53)

“Quinn, I’m not sitting on your lap!”

“Funny, but it looks like you are.”

“Let me go.”

“No. Now, listen. No, don’t start cursing at me. Listen.”

He takes my chin firmly in hand and turns my face so I’m forced to look at him. His voice low, he says, “You’re in shock.”

My laugh sounds crazed. “You think?”

“Aye. I’ve seen you stab a man in the neck without batting a lash and hunt armed intruders with the enthusiasm of a big game poacher, but saying ‘I do’ seems to be beyond your stress threshold.”

“Marriage is beyond any rational woman’s stress threshold.”

His lips thin in displeasure. “I’m not your bloody dead husband.”

I try to look away, but he doesn’t let me. He keeps those fingers clasped around my jaw, holding my head in place.

Looking into my eyes, he demands, “Say it.”

I frown. “Say what?”

“That I’m not him.”

He’s deadly serious, his expression dark and his eyes darker. I don’t know why it’s so important to him, but I don’t have the presence of mind to figure it out. Or to argue.

All I really want is to take a bath, go to bed, and wake up tomorrow morning with someone else’s life.

“You’re not him.”

“Say it again.”

“For fuck’s sake!”

“Indulge me.”

I sigh and close my eyes, too tired to fight. “You’re not him. I know you’re not. Honestly, I do.”

When he remains silent, I add softly, “You’re ten times the man he was. That doesn’t mean my feelings about this situation are illegitimate.”

He strokes his thumb along my jaw and murmurs, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Are you ever going to look at me again?”

When I crack open an eye, he smiles at me. Then he turns serious and businesslike.

“We need to talk.”

“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”

Adjusting my weight in his lap, he spreads his legs wider so my butt is resting on the seat and his thighs are open around my bottom. He pushes on the mass of white chiffon so it’s out of his way and slides his hand up my thigh, pulling me closer and digging his fingers into my bare flesh.

I say drily, “My, aren’t we handsy all of a sudden.”

“I’m only getting started. But that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I’d like to get drunk first, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind. I need you lucid for this.”

“That sounds scary.”

“I want to fuck you as soon as we get to the hotel, so we need to get this conversation out of the way first.”

My face flushes with heat. I chew on the inside of my cheek as he stares at my mouth with undisguised longing.

His voice thick, he says, “I won’t force you, I want that to be clear. Just because you’re my wife doesn’t mean you can’t say no.”

Feeling as if I’ve just been run over by a truck, I take a deep breath and blow it out.

“Are you forgetting our pleasant little chat in the back room of the church where you demanded this fake marriage had to include sex or the whole thing was a no-go?”

“I remember that you agreed to it,” comes the hard reply.

“Because my niece was about to be shot by her father.”

“Okay, let’s get into that.” He pauses to smirk at me. “You’re full of shite.”

I say hotly, “He would’ve shot her! And Juan Pablo, too!”

“Mmhmm. And there was no way you could’ve wrestled the gun from his hand or distracted him long enough to shoot him yourself, right? Because you’re so meek and incapable.”

The sarcasm in his tone makes me stare at him in outrage. “Are you suggesting I wanted to marry you?”

“I’m suggesting that if you really didn’t, you’d have figured out how to get a handle on your idiot brother without strutting down the aisle in a wedding dress.”

I say through clenched teeth, “I. Didn’t. Strut. I walked.”

“My point is that I saw you stand in front of a man pointing a gun at your chest and you told him to go fuck himself. You said you’d see him in hell, where you’d cut off his balls and choke him with them.” His smile is small and hideously smug. “There’s no way Gianni scared you.”

I lift my chin and sniff snootily. “You’re delusional, but you can think whatever you want.”

“I will. And what I think is that deep down, you wanted to marry me.”

“Your ego is the eighth wonder of the world, my friend.”

Ignoring that, he continues in a softer, more intimate tone. “Because you’re not a woman who’d give up a freedom that was won by such a high cost.”

His gaze is piercing, drilling into mine and daring me to contradict him. He waits for my response, stroking his thumb gently back and forth over my cheek as he holds me.

“This is a terrible thing to say, especially on our wedding day, so please forgive me. But there’s no guarantee I won’t be back to wearing black before the month is out.”