Page 103 of Misdeeds of a Billionaire
Sighing, she put the envelope back into her purse. “Want me to stay a few days?” she offered. “Just in case the fucker turns crazy like his brother.” My brows scrunched at her words, and she must have realized she’d slipped, because she immediately added, “All of them are crazy.”
As Byron’s staff took care of bringing all our bags into the house, I headed toward Ares’s playroom. I could hear my son’s excited voice explaining to Byron his logic in building the train tracks. It was another resemblance he had to Byron—his brilliant mind. Billie was artistic and creative. I had a knack for the sciences. But Ares—even at his young age—overachieved in everything.
The moment I entered the playroom, two sets of identical blue eyes—one young and one older—rose to greet us.
“Hey, Maman.” I smiled as he returned to tearing open his packages so he could place every train on the table.
I met Byron’s eyes, the same dark expression lingering on his face. I hesitated, chewing on my bottom lip. I didn’t think he was mad about the money, but I couldn’t even fathom what else it could be.
“Did I spend too much money?”
My heart raced looking at him and remembering last night. Whenever I was in his presence, my body went into hyperactive mode. It was impossible to switch it off. Even when my heart was breaking six years ago, I wanted him. All of him.
“You didn’t spend enough,” he replied, rising to his full height.
“I didn’t?” Then what had made him so moody? Maybe he missed me.Yeah, right.
Byron smiled at our son, and my heart twisted. I couldn’t deny he was good with Ares. Each smile and kind gesture now made me question my decision. A decision I believed to be the right one at the time, but was now apparently spiraling over.
“Ares, we’ll have dinner in an hour,” he told him.
He didn’t even bother glancing at either of us. “Okay.”
“Let’s go talk.” Byron’s fingers wrapped around my arm. I could barely keep up with his long strides as he walked toward our own bedroom. The moment the door slammed behind us, Byron’s hand left my forearm and came up to curl around my throat, my back hitting the door. “Where have you been, baby?”
He applied gentle pressure, tilting my face up so our gazes clashed while I blinked in confusion.
“What are you doing?” I tried to push him away, but Byron was a solid wall of muscle.
His lips hovered a breath away from mine. “I’ll ask again. Where have you been, wife?”
My body warmed, feeling him pressing against me. My lungs grew intoxicated from his scent. And my pussy—that traitorous body part—throbbed, the evidence of my desire soaking my panties.
“Shopping. That’s where I’ve been. Getting shit from the list you left for me.”
“Liar.” Byron’s jaw locked, his pressure around my neck increasing. Not enough to hurt, but enough to threaten. “You had lunch with that playboy. Marco.” Unease slithered down my spine. It seemed like Byron was as jealous as ever, which still surprised me, given how much confidence he oozed. It looked the same as it had all those years ago in that tight elevator; dark and possessive. Byron never did like to share when it came to me. He applied pressure on my neck, his mouth skimming over my skin. “Answer me, Odette.”
There it was. He never called me by my first name when he touched me, kissed me. Unless he was displeased. Well, tough shit. I wasn’t exactly in heaven either.
“Get your hands off me, Byron.” My tone was calm. Cold. Yes, I still wanted him. But not like this. Never like this. And I’d be damned if I let him manhandle me. Fucking ever.
Seconds stretched, feeling hours long, until he tore himself from me. He stalked toward the bathroom. But this wasn’t over. We’d talk this out, if it was the last thing we did. I would drag it out of him. If there was one thing my father said about marriage, it was that you had to talk shit out. Otherwise, the problems would only grow bigger.
So I trailed after him, determined to bring this to a head.
“We were shopping and then stopped for lunch. It’s where we ran into Marco.” His steps faltered right before reaching the bathroom. He faced me, angst sweeping past his eyes. But something else lurked beneath the surface too. I couldn’t read what it was, but it felt important I found out. “We’re old friends. Marco’s wife is the head of the George Washington Hospital. He offered to pass my name on to her, and I couldn’t miss the opportunity. I need a job.”
He gave me a look, and I knew what his next words would be.
“You don’t have to work.”
I closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. I wished I understood why he insisted on marrying me. Have heirs with me. I bet he had a harem of females ready to do his bidding. Anything he wanted. So why did he want me?
“Iwanta job,” I finally said. “I didn’t work my ass off getting through med school just to have a pretty resume.”
Our gazes held. My pulse thundered in my ears. There were so many words—said and unsaid—that danced between us. That night with him was the first time I’d fully let go. And then it backfired so fucking bad that it nearly destroyed me.
Yet, I loved every minute of that night with him. Every touch. Every kiss. Every word he whispered in my ear.
