Page 117 of Bride By Coronation

I lower my voice. "I'll tell you a secret about him if you wish."

Her eyes widen. She orders, "Don't hold out on me!"

Trying not to grin, I curl my finger at her.

She steps in front of me. "Tell me, tell me, tell me!"

I lean into her ear and whisper, "He's trying to get a seat at the table."

She stills, realizing what I'm referring to, and blurts out, "He's in The Underworld?"

"Yes."

She gapes at me.

I chuckle.

She tilts her head. "Is this a cruel joke?"

"Nope. Want to meet him?" I ask.

She playfully slaps the back of her hand against my bicep. "Don't ask stupid questions, dear hubby of mine."

"Or what?"

She reaches for my cock and cups my balls, taunting, "I'll turn these blue."

My heart races faster. Without thinking, I pin her against the wall, wrap my fingers around her throat, and lift my wrist.

Her face tilts back. She gasps, and her eyes blaze with green flames.

"Is that so?" I challenge.

Her bare tits press into my chest, rising and falling faster. She moves her hand to my cock, strokes my growing erection, and glances at my mouth. She murmurs, "Maybe."

My lips twitch. Hot blood rushes to my head so fast I see stars. I push past it and flick my tongue against her lobe, warning, "Don't start something you're not planning on finishing, my little bird." I kiss her neck and jaw and then meet her stare.

She bats her eyelashes, circles her thumb on the tip of my cock, and seductively breathes, "I'll keep that in mind." She lowers her gaze to my lips.

"Didn't you come in here to get a swimsuit?" I question, forcing myself to retreat.

A flicker of disappointment flashes on her expression but quickly converts back to excitement. She glances around and asks, "Which door are the bikinis hiding behind?"

My cock throbs. I realize I need to put some clothes on. Being naked with Fiona is going to result in us never leaving the bedroom, and she'll miss the perks of the yacht. So I push another button, and several drawers, shelves, and hanging rods appear.

She reaches for a gold mesh cover-up and removes it from the hanger. She holds it in front of her and exclaims, "This is vintage Simone LeRue!"

"Is that good?" I question.

She arches her eyebrows. "You're serious?"

"Yes. I told you I have no fashion sense."

She scoffs. "Don't say that. If you picked this stuff out, you have good taste."

I sincerely question, "I do?"

She nods. "Yes. You do."

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