Page 20 of I Almost Do

I bite out, “I took over all the household contracts three weeks ago. You’re no longer employed by Marcus Harcourt. And you will report exactly jack shit on my wife’s activities to her father. Do you understand me?”

The blonde’s eyes widen before she dips her chin in an abrupt nod. “Understood.”

When we reach our floor with the honeymoon suite, I swing Clarissa into my arms. "If anyone is liable to trip over the threshold, it's you tonight," I say.

She sighs and holds on, and after the guard confirms the room is clear and leaves, I carry her through the door.

I kick it closed, then take her to the bedroom to lay her on the bed.

She stares at me, a dent between her eyebrows, sudden determination written on her face. Then she launches herself at me, pressing her lips against mine. I freeze, then pull away, dragging her arms from around my neck.

"My whole life," she says mournfully, "I'm going to look back and remember how my own husband couldn't even stand to kiss me on my wedding day."

I sit down heavily on the side of the bed.Is that what she thinks?"Clarissa—"

"I don't want your pity." She sounds embarrassed. And, yes, definitely very drunk.

"Clarissa," I say more firmly. "I want to kiss you. I want it more than you can imagine, but it wouldn't be right. I’d feel like a dirty old man.”

It’s not her age. I know she’s an adult. But she’s never even dated, according to her father. And after that conversation with Beth in the elevator, I wonder if she’s ever done anything at all.

Add in that she’s stressed out over Marcus’s health and also factor in her alcohol consumption? Yeah, the things I picture doing to her make me feel like a creep.

She recoils hard, and I realize my phrasing could have been better.

"So you never kissed anyone when you were twenty years old? Please. It'sridiculous,” she says.

It’s probably fewer people than she imagines. I despise when most people touch me. It makes my skin crawl. Or worse, it ignites a bone-deep anger in me. Clarissa is… an exception.

"If I kiss you the way I want to, then I'll want other things we aren't ready for."

"You'll want to fuck."

"Yes, Clarissa," I say through a clenched jaw. "I'll want to fuck."

"Good. I'm down." She throws herself back on the bed, arms out like some kind of virgin sacrifice, and I'm the dragon ready to devour her.

I jerk to standing and turn my back to her, trying to will my erection to go the hell down. It's not working.

Mywifeis lying in her wedding dress on the bed of our honeymoon suite. And she is "down to fuck."

She’s also drunk as hell, and we agreed we wouldn’t do this. I resent being put in a position where I have to reject her.

Especially when I don’twantto reject her. I want to peel that sparkly cloud of a dress off her, taste every freckle on her body, and lose myself inside her. I want to do it again and again. At least three times.

She’d hate me for it later. And I’d hate myself. She isn't thinking about what a violation of trust this would be.

And she agreed to those boundaries. Yet she’s pushing them on our very first night as man and wife.

“Aargh!” she cries in frustration. “I’ll bet you were having tons of sex when you were my age.”

I absolutely was not. But I just say, “This is different. We have to live with each other. If we cross that line, we can’t take it back. We’re trying to build a friendship here.”

I expect more of an argument, but she turns away and asks in a resigned tone, "Are we going to be married without benefits forever?"

"We can have sex when you're twenty-five," I say. "If you still want me then."

I didn’t plan to say it, but she’s right. The idea of never sharing a bed with her is not only intolerable, it’s impossible. There has to be an end in sight. Either I can trust myself with her by that time… or she divorces me when she’s financially independent so she can move on.

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