Page 69 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
“Come in.”
The door opens slowly, then Andreas appears. He looks taller, broader, even more intimidating than usual, and my stupid heart flutters.
He stands in the doorway, his eyes dragging over me. They start at my face. When they’re content I’m not angry or afraid, they move down over my T-shirt, to my waist, my hips. Then my thighs—my scars. He wipesthe back of his hand across his mouth before raising his gaze back to mine.
“Come inside and close the door.”
“Viola knows what I do,” he says, but steps inside anyway and closes the door.
“That’s fine, but I want to speak to you alone.”
He walks into the room, every step sending my heart galloping a little faster. His body heat seems to draw me in like a magnet and I push myself away from the window. He stops carefully, about three feet in front of me.
I lift my chin to look directly into his eyes. “Was it you?”
His eyes search mine—he knows exactly what I’m talking about. “Yes.”
Instead of feeling terrified that my husband just admitted to murdering a man in cold blood, my chest blooms with something that feels a little bit like pride. The governor made me feel like a piece of meat. I wouldn’t say he deserved to die but he deserved some sort of rich punishment.
“Why?” That one word comes out like a long breath.
He takes another step toward me, closing the gap. I can feel the air pulsing between us.
“Because you’remine. Andno onetouches what’s mine.”
He speaks in clipped syllables, with a sharpness that should be reserved for knives, not words. His body bears down on me, making me feel small and fragile,even though I know I’m getting a little stronger every day and less afraid of him.
“But, what about the deal? You still need him—or someone—to sign.”
One more step brings his chest to mine, his angular face lowered until it’s all I can see. “Youcome before any deal.”
His words slide through my ears like warm honey wending its way down my throat, through my stomach, into my pelvis, where it collects between my thighs. I take a breath in, filling my nostrils with his musky scent. My head feels light as I continue to bend my neck backward so I can see his eyes. They are deep and cavernous, dancing with shadows.
I don’t understand. He married me so he could take Boston. From the little I know of his plans, it seemed as though this project was pivotal. Why would he jeopardize that?
As if he can read my mind, he offers more clarity. “You’re mywife.” He lets those words linger, hotly. Then he softens his voice, his breath brushing against my lips. “And you’ve been throughenough.”
My neck aches from looking up at him but I can’t remove my gaze. His full lips mouthing those predatory words has me completely mesmerized.
With his face still lowered, his breaths continue to brush against my lips. They part and fall open, and my eyelids flutter shut. I’m no longer in control of my reactions to him and I suddenly know what I want.
The recollection of that kiss on the day of ourwedding skips to the front of my mind. The way he pressed his mouth against me until it hurt, the way his hand splayed possessively across my shoulder blades drawing me to him with an escaped breath. It felt animalistic, as though he couldn’t hold himself back, and I want that again.
I couldn’t admit to myself at the time that I enjoyed feeling overpowered like that, by him. But now that he’s spent weeks providing all the right care for me, keeping his distance until I’m healed enough to handle him, and now that he’skilledfor me… I don’t care who knows.
I think Iwantmy husband.
His breaths are hot and short, a pained groan forming at the base of his throat. Just when I think he’s going to close the half inch gap and bring his lips onto mine, the air around me grows cold. I ping my eyes open to see him take a few steps backward.
“Are you leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Where are you going?”
