Page 9 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
Dear God, no.
My pulse is a frantic drumbeat against my ribs as Dorian drags me away from the safety of the crowd, Brennan protectively on our heels. Protectively? I mentally scoff at the idea. More like threateningly. Anyone who comes close to Dorian might be torn limb from limb.
I was praying that I had hours, maybe a full day, to think this through, figure out a way to convince him not to touch me.
But I’m learning that Dorian isn’t a patient man.
“We can’t leave our guests,” I protest. Any excuse.
He doesn’t slow down. For all I know, he hasn’t even heard me.
The click of my tall heels is sharp on the marble floors, but even that doesn’t deter me. “Mr. Vale! Please, slow down.”
Finally he relents, but not by much.
“You can’t keep up?”
I scowl at him. “These shoes belonged to my sister.”
At that, he shortens his strides.
“So this was a last-minute substitution.”
If he only knew…
He stops, and Brennan opens a door that’s just to our right, and he checks inside. “Give us the room,” he barks at the catering staff.
I squeeze my eyes shut, praying they’ll refuse. But they don’t. Within seconds, every person has scurried away.
“Clear,” Brennan tells Dorian, something I’ve only ever heard on cop shows before.
How has my life suddenly become so surreal?
My unwanted husband draws me inside the room. Then Brennan closes the door. Moments later, Dorian throws the lock.
The small room has a bank of windows overlooking magnificent pines and a live oak tree. In other circumstances, the view would take my breath away.
“Now…wife…”
He backs me against a wall and leans in close. For the first time ever, I experience the full weight of his gaze.
Assessing. Measuring. Deciding.
A predator with his prey cornered.
“I’m going to sample the wares.”
His voice is soft, almost thoughtful, and the words send an icy tremor through me.
I lift my chin, refusing to cower. “Is that what you do, Mr. Vale? Take what you want and damn the consequences?”
“You might want to be careful, little one.”
Steel warning is woven through his words, but I recklessly ignore it. “Why is that? Because you’re a brute?” A tic is throbbing in his temple, another warning that I’m pushing this man that I barely know. But I’m unable to stop myself. I might have been led like a lamb to slaughter, but there’s no way I can keep my mouth shut against this outrageous injustice. “You do realize that you’re so awful that Margaux risked everything to get away from you?”
His eyes flash—brief, barely a flicker, but I see it. Annoyance. Irritation. Maybe a hint of anger. It pleases me, more than it should, to have broken through his calculated mask.
“If you hope your words will stop this—me—you’re wrong.”
