He glares at me. “You’re my wife.”
“A wife you keep at arm’s length.”
"That doesn't mean I don't…" He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Just because I'm trying to keep my distance doesn't mean I can stand watching someone else touch what's mine."
What's mine. But this time, I hear it differently. Not like I’m a possession in the same way this house or his car is. Or how I was used as part of a business deal. Instead, it feels like I’m important.
"So when you saw him trace my neck…" I touch the spot where my art teacher's fingers had been, watching Ash's eyes darken as they follow the movement.
"I wanted to rip his arms out.”
He does want me. Maybe not in the way I want, but this visceral reaction proves he feels something beyond obligation.
“But you and I are just a business?—"
His eyes lock with mine, intense and conflicted. "You're making it very difficult to keep this arrangement purely business."
Interesting. My friends’ advice about seducing a man come back to me, but I know he’s like a skittish cat. If I push him, he’ll only run away. As much as I’d like more from him, I don’t wantto make him give up Meghan, a woman he clearly loved deeply. Doing that would make me as cruel as he’s been.
I give him a smile. "You don't have to worry about other men touching me.” There. He should feel secure. But then I decide to add, “I don't want anyone else's hands on me."
“Else’s? Who else touched?—”
“When I agreed to this marriage, the part that scared me the most was the idea of having a man touch me. Especially the way my mom explained it.” I tilt my head, studying his face, the memory of seeing it for the first time on our wedding day coming back to me. “But then I saw you and… I don’t know. Something changed. You’re my husband. The only man who has touched me. The only man I want.”
He stares at our joined hands, his thumb absently stroking my skin. The simple touch makes my heart ache to feel more, to have him touch me the way he did that first night before guilt and grief made him pull away.
But I know now that his heart belongs wholly to someone else. Even if his body responds to me, even if jealousy makes him want to claim me as his, Meghan's ghost stands between us.
I can see my words make him uncomfortable. He’s wrestling with guilt over simply holding my hand. Still, I don't pull away. For now, this small connection is enough. I'll take whatever pieces of himself he's willing to share.
To put him at ease, I say, "I know it doesn't change anything for you. It would be nice if you felt the same for me, but I know you don’t. You won’t. I accept that.”
14
ASH
She thinks I don’t feel anything for her. Meanwhile, my fingers itch to slide up to cup her neck where his had been, replacing his touch with mine. To feel her pulse race under my thumb.
The truth is I feel something, and it isn’t just lust, although that is there. If only it were just lust, then this would be easier. I could fuck her and have it mean nothing. But it wouldn’t mean nothing, and that’s the problem.
The darkness inside me, the part that's been dormant since Meghan died, has roared to life. It wants to hunt down every man who might look at Hannah, touch her, desire her. It wants to brand my ownership into her skin until she knows, the world knows, whom she belongs to.
This possessive fury terrifies me. It's exactly what I've been trying to avoid by keeping my distance. But watching that man touch her showed me the truth. She’s somehow become a part of me.
"Hannah…" The word comes out rough, strained. Keeping my thoughts and feelings from her are what got us into thissituation, but baring everything to her feels like too much. Telling her about Meghan was hard enough.
“It’s okay.” Her green eyes lock with mine, filled with a raw honesty that makes me feel like a dick for how I’ve treated her. The urge to touch her, to pull her close and sooth away the hurt I’ve caused her, crashes over me. Of course, that’s followed by images of Meghan. The way she used to smile at me, her trust in me. Trust I betrayed when I wasn't there to save her. And now I’m back again to that toxic blend of desire for one woman and guilt over another.
“It’s not okay. You deserve better. I failed Meghan. I’m failing you.”
Hannah shifts closer, her hand squeezing mine tighter. My body screams to close the distance while my mind wages war with itself.
I want her. God help me, I want her more than I've wanted anything since Meghan. And that terrifies me more than any enemy I've faced.
“I won’t deny that it’s been hard, but I understand now. I see you're trapped by grief, by guilt… by feeling like moving forward means leaving Meghan behind."
Her words hit me right in the center of my chest. Like she can see into and know my soul.
