She keeps her chin lifted, but I know I’ve hurt her. No wonder she acts like a scared kitten around me.
She opens the mini bar and pulls out an overpriced bottle of water. She pours some into a glass, and then after glancing at me, pours a second glass.
"Here." She brings one of the glasses to me. "Better than whiskey for nightmares."
How does she know? Do I call out in my sleep?
I take the water from her without thinking, our fingers brushing. The contact sends sparks up my arm and down to my dick. Fuck.
Hannah lifts her glass to her lips, taking a slow sip. A drop of water escapes, sliding down her throat. My mouth goes dry as I watch it disappear between her tits and beneath the neckline of her negligee.
She lets out a contented sigh.
I grip my glass harder, forcing my eyes away from the curves the fabric reveals. But they drift back like magnets, drawn to the way she tilts her head, exposing the elegant line of her neck as she takes another drink.
"Everything's different here," she murmurs, and there's something in her voice, a hint of vulnerability beneath the confidence. I’m reminded of how young she is. How innocent she is. And here I am acting like a rabid beast.
She sits down at the other end of the couch, as if she knows not to get too close. But it doesn’t matter. Even at this distance, I feel the pull of her.
I need to leave, need to put distance between us before I do something stupid like touch her. But I'm rooted to the spot, mesmerized by this girl who is obliterating all my control.
“Why did you agree to marry me?” She tucks her legs under her, the silk of her negligee riding up to reveal more creamy skin.
Images flash through my mind. The old family estate reduced to charred ruins, Meghan's body in the ashes, my brothers and me fleeing in the night.
“The same reason you agreed to marry me. Family duty.” I keep my voice flat, emotionless. But Hannah's presence beside me makes it hard to maintain distance. Her warmth, her scent, the way she looks at me with those bright, curious eyes, it all threatens to crack the walls I've built.
She lets out a soft laugh. “I wouldn’t say I agreed. I didn’t have much choice.”
The realization that she’s been forced to endure me makes me feel like an even bigger asshole.
I don’t say anything. What can I say? Sorry you’re born into a fucked up, patriarchal society? Sorry you’re forced to marry a man who won’t ever love you, won’t ever touch you?
She shifts, and it brings her scent close to me. "You're not very good at conversation, are you?"
"I'm not good at much." Except keeping emotions distant.
"I get it, you know. You're not attracted to me.” She gives me a wan smile.
If only she knew how wrong she is. How much willpower it takes not to reach for her right now.
“It's okay if you’re not.” Hannah's hand finds mine. Her touch is gentle, warm. Wrong.
I should pull away, should send her to bed and lock myself away until these feelings fade. I don't move. Can't move. Her fingers intertwine with mine, and for the first time in years, the shadows don't feel quite so heavy.
"You don't know anything." The words come out harsh like everything I say to her seems to.
"Don't I? You've barely looked at me all day. You won't touch me, won't even stay in the same room as me for more than five minutes."
A new form of guilt burns in my gut. She thinks I'm rejecting her when I'm actually fighting not to pull her into my arms. The irony would be funny if it weren't so painful.
"Hannah—” My voice catches as she leans forward, her hair falling like fire across her shoulders. Her sweet scent wraps around me, making my head spin.
"It's fine." But there's a challenge in her eyes now, a spark that makes my blood run hot. "We can just be roommates who happen to be married. No need to pretend?—”
“It’s not what you think.” I down the water, wishing it were more whisky.
"Then explain it to me." Her hand squeezes mine, and electricity shoots through my body. "Because right now, all I see is a man who can't stand to be near his wife."
