“Don’t bother,” Titus said smoothly, his dark eyes gleaming with intent. “You won’t need it.”
Her breath caught, fingers tightening around the silk. Heat burned through her veins—not just from his words but from the way he looked at her. Slowly, methodically, his gaze moved over her, taking in every inch of the gown she wore. Layers of ivory and lace, fitted to her body in a way that had made her feel like a bride, despite knowing this wasn’t a real marriage.
Now, standing before him in their bedroom, she felt ensnared by something far stronger than silk and lace—something binding, unbreakable. This wasn’t just a wedding gown—it was a contract, asymbol of everything she had agreed to, everything she had given up. It felt as if the fabric itself carried weight, pressing against herskin like invisible chains, reminding her that there was no turningback.
He stepped forward, and without breaking eye contact, reached around her for the first tiny button at the nape of her neck. The soft brush of his knuckles against her skin sent a shiver cascading through her. She should protest. She should say something. Anything. But the slow, deliberate way he unfastened each button left hermute.
“You looked beautiful today,” he murmured, his voice like a slow, rolling storm, deep and charged with something dark and undeniable. “Every man in that room wanted you. Every single one of them wondered what it would be like to be in my place tonight.”
Her pulse stuttered. “And you?”
His fingers grazed down the length of her spine, parting the fabric ever so slightly. “I don’t wonder, Jazz. Iknow.”
Her stomach flipped, her body reacting in a way she couldn’t prevent. The bodice of her dress loosened, and his hands skimmed herbare shoulders, pushing the delicate lace downward, inch by excruciatinginch.
“What did you think of the wedding?” he asked, his voice deceptively casual as he slid one sleeve from her arm, then the other.
Jazz swallowed hard, struggling to keep her thoughts coherent as her gown pooled at her waist. “I—what?”
“The wedding,” he repeated. “What did you think?”
She swallowed, her mind scrambling. What did he expect her to say? That it was beautiful? That the luxurious floral arrangements and the towering cake had made up for the fact that she had walked down the aisle toward a man who barely touched her? That she had smiled for the cameras, knowing every moment was a carefully orchestrated performance?
She shivered as his knuckles grazed the exposed skin of her back. “It was… grand.”
A slow smile curved his lips. “You didn’t like it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Senator Alistair Vex seemed to enjoy himself,” Titus murmured, his tone neutral, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent beneath his words. “He made it a point to personally congratulate me on my choice of bride. Said he was looking forward to doing business with us.”
Jazz stiffened slightly, her mind flashing back to the older man with the pale blue eyes and the kind of smile that never quite reached them. Alistair Vex had been watching them closely all evening, his presence lingering at the edges of every conversation that mattered.
“He makes me uneasy,” she admitted, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “The way he looked at me—like he was assessing something. Calculating.”
Titus’s fingers traced absent patterns along her collarbone. “That’s exactly what he was doing. Alistair Vex doesn’t waste time on anything that doesn’t serve his interests. Andright now, we do.”
“We don’t have to, do we?” Heat crawled into her belly, adeep, insidious burn that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do withhim.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, deliberate, and had nothing to do with Vex. “Are you afraid of me, Jazz?”
She swallowed, willing herself to meet his gaze. “No.”
A slow, knowing smile. “Liar.”
She inhaled sharply. “You’ve only kissed me twice. Once that night—”
“And earlier today at the altar.”
“Yes.”
He held her firmly, his grip unyielding yet not cruel. His touch branded her, possessive and inescapable, sending heat smoldering low in her belly. She should pull away. She should fight against the way her body responded to him. But she didn’t. The heat of his body seeped into hers, aslow burn that tightened something low in her stomach. His hold was effortless, possessive, andutterly inescapable. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to flee or melt intohim.
His dark gaze bore into her, searching, testing. Then, with deliberate ease, his fingers slid lower, tracing the curve of her back through the remaining fabric of her dress. His touch was light, teasing, as if he had all the time in the world.
“You think I don’t want you?” His words were a murmur against her skin, the heat of his breath teasing her senses. “You think I’m not desperate to taste you again?”
When he stopped just shy of touching her, her breath hitched, her body already betraying her. He reached out, trailing one calloused finger along the curve of her throat, dipping to the hollow where her pulse pounded wildly.
