Page 6 of His Bride

“I have about six. I just never remember them.”

Giana nods. “I thought they were for your expansive cufflink collection.”

“I keep cufflinks in them, true,” I mutter.

Is this what discussing paint shades is like? I remember that boring-ass conversation between Alexius and Leandra once. Honestly, it was worse than catching them having sex. At least that’s interesting. Though they like being watched. I don’t mind watching them fuck, the way they?—

God, I’m a dick.

My mother’s in the ground, and my brother might die. I keep having these bouncing thoughts, like my brain forgets what happened, and I need to stop.

“Caelian—”

“—but only because I don’t know where the boxes are.” I finish the sentence and rub a hand over my face.

God, this woman affects me in ways that turn me into an even bigger selfish prick than I already am. Even more reckless. This woman here, I got my brother shot over her, and I don’t know how to fix it.

“Caelian, I really am?—”

“Sorry? Yeah, aren’t we all.”

She snaps; I see it. The fire I crave flares in her eyes, and she jumps up, taking a slug of the booze. “Yes, I’m sorry. Yes, I know I’m your special punching bag?—”

“Never said you were. I’m not into hitting women. Not even you.”

“One day, I’ll be charmed by that.” She shoves the flask at me. “But not today. I’m going back to the house. One of us has to be there.”

“Giana?” I call, and she stops without turning.

I stub out my second cigarette.

Rising, I walk up and circle to face her. We’re so close she’s a burning flame against my flesh. Her breath is mine. Her essence seeps into my pores, and I’m a goddamn addict. There’s no way I can stop myself, lifting my hand and brushing my knuckles down the side of her face, her skin soft, silky…lethal.

She licks her lips, and I can almost taste her tongue in my mouth, everything crackling and igniting, the air laden with a lust that transcends mere sex and fuckery. It’s ahunger, a thirst that goes beyond the physical. Something our souls yearn for. That biblical sense of being one.

The way she leans into my touch like I have what she longs for, like I’m the salve to her open wounds—it stirs something raw and primordial within me. It’s a feeling I can’t quite put into words. It’s like she carries an ache that resonates with mine in perfect disharmony, creating a choir of shared torment.

The words push at me, yet I bury them.I’m sorrywon’t change a fucking thing.

“What?” she asks softly.

Those words press again. I want to brush my lips against hers, cherry-red and ripe. Ready to ravish. But I resist the pull, denying myself what I want most…because I don’t deserve it.

I ease my hand down, and she sucks in a breath as I take a step back.

“When you see your father or anyone else outside immediate family, Alexius is fine and simply grieving in private. That’s it. If pushed for info, my mother died unexpectedly. Otherwise, don’t say anything.”

“Got it.” Her response is sharp. Final.

“You can leave now,” I say, putting the bottle to my lips and taking a long swallow. “Go to the house and tell everyone yourhusbandwill be there soon.”

“I’m not your little messenger bird.”

“But you are a trapped one, remember?”

Her eyes darken, every line on her beautiful face drawn in shadows. “Some days I do hate you, Caelian Del Rossa.”

I shoot her one of my cocky grins I know has a one-way ticket to under her skin. “Some days I wish that very first night in the woods was the end of it. It was uncomplicated. Simple. Nothing more than a great fuck for the history books. Now,” I scowl, “now it’s just one giant clusterfuck.”

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