Page 9 of The Rejected Wife

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because"—he takes my other hand in his and presses both my palms between his much bigger ones—"that person is not me. Not unless you give me a chance tonight. Take a chance on us, Priscilla. I promise, you won’t regret it."

Did the cosmos finally read my vision board?That’s intense. His words have a ring of authenticity to them which resonates somewhere deep inside me. I swallow… He sounds so sure of himself. His tone goes beyond arrogance; he sounds certain that we have a connection. He’s telling me that he’s thinking of me as more than just a passing liaison and what we have is something special. Right?

Also,hedidrescue my bag, and was the complete gentleman until…he wasn’t. And I loved that, too. After all, Ididorgasm. I could do with more of those.

And is he right? If I don’t agree to spend the night with him, will I regret it? Will I always wonder how it could have been to act on such an intense connection?

I shake my head. "You’re very persuasive, you know that?"

"Does that mean you’re saying yes?" he asks in a low voice.Like silk dragged across stone. Oh. My. God. How can I resist that?

I nod.

A breath whooshes out of him. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders.

Apparently, he wasn’t sure I’d agree. This glimpse of vulnerability makes my heart stutter. I pegged him for an alpha male who was used to getting his way. So, the fact he didn’t assume anything when it comes to me is refreshing.

It also confirms to me that I made the right choice. Which in turn, makes me want to sleep with him even more. How confusing is that?

"Say it aloud," he urges me.

It doesn’t even occur to me to refuse him. "Yes, I’ll spend the night with you. Only"—I tip up my chin—“I want to do more than just talk."

Something flashes in his eyes, the intensity lighting a fire that zips through my veins. He lowers his chin until his gaze is level with mine. "You want to do more than talk?"

His dark, gravelly voice sends another flurry of excitement down my spine.I squeeze my thighs together. His nostrils flare, and I'm certain he must be aware of how turned on I am. The knowledge makes me flush. I draw in a breath to calm myself.

"I do," I admit.

He studies my eyes, and whatever he sees there makes him nod. “Good, give me your phone.”

“Eh?”

“Your phone.” He holds out his palm.

“You realize that asking someone to hand over their phone is more personal than sex?”

He chuckles. “Clearly, you haven’t had good sex.”

How aboutno sex?Not counting all the masturbation with my favorite toys and spicy romance novels, of course.

When I still hesitate, he murmurs, “You agreed to come home with me. You allowed me to make you come. Your instinct tells you, that you can trust me.”

I nod slowly.

“Take it a step further and give me your phone.”

Once again, his voice is spiked with that edge of genuineness, which has more of an effect on me than him ordering me to do so.

I pull my phone from my purse. I begin to hand it over when he reminds me, “Unlock it first.”

“Oh, right.” I do so and place my device on his palm.

He holds it up and takes a selfie.

“What are you doing?’

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