Page 46 of Inconvenient Marriage
I stare right back.
She pats her pockets. “I’ll call Miranda. She has her permit. She can come get us. If not, I’m sure one of your friends can pick us up.”
If I called any of my bros, they’d drop whatever they were doing to help me. I’d do the same for them, too. But if they knew I was right where I wanted to be… “Sorry, love. I thought you noticed. There’s no service up here.”
I don’t think she even noticed that, distracted by our picnic date, she never even took out her phone. I’m banking on that because, while the service is spotty up on the mountain, if she walks around, she’ll get a strong enough signal to make a call.
She leaves her phone in her pocket and I have to swallow my triumphant grin.
Instead, I cluck my tongue. “What’s the matter, love?”
“What’s the matter?” she echoes. “Your bike is dead. We’re probably a good hour, hour and a half out of town by foot, and it’ll be dark sooner than later. No one knows where we are, and it’s just me and you stuck together out here.”
I remove my helmet, making sure she can see the dare on my face. “Is that a problem? That it’s just me and you?”
“What? No?—”
I chuckle. “It’s okay. Tell me, Annaliese… are you afraid to be alone with your husband?”
FOURTEEN
INTERRUPTED
ANNALIESE
Are you afraid to be alone with your husband?
Am I?
Of course not. I’m not afraid of this man, husband or not. But if I’m being honest with myself… I might be a little wary of being alone with a stunningly attractive man that I can’t help but be drawn to.
That’s just me, though. We’ve been married for almost a month, and the mixed signals are driving me fucking crazy. Sometimes I can’t help but feel like he’s hiding her, but at the same time, we’ve gone on dates. He’s not enforcing the Order’s ‘sleeping in the same bed’ rule, but he visits me enough that I don’t think that he has a devoted side piece. Does that mean he isn’t visiting the Used? No… and I can’t ask him. I just… Ican’t.
This was a magical afternoon. Riding his bike after he basically told me that that was what we were doing today was freeing, and I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy spending time with him… but it’s fake. It’sfake. I’m only fooling myself when I think ‘what if’.
What if I could really love Sebastien Reynolds? What if he could love me?
What if this marriage could be real…
I shake my head. “I’m not afraid of you, Sebastien.”
“That’s good to hear. But,” he adds, waving his hand in the few inches that exist between my chest and his while we’re both sitting on his dead motorcycle, “you are afraid of this. Ofus.”
Shit.
I hate that he’s right. I hate even more that heknowshe’s right.
So I tell him the one thing that I cling to whenever the feelings get too real: “Id doesn’t matter. What we have… this is fake, Sebastien.”
Moments ago, he was chuckling, not concerned in the least that the bike he built with his own two hands had crapped out on him. He was amused, while I was frustrated, but a swift change suddenly comes over him. He tosses his helmet to the dirt. His jaw tight, he swings his leg, climbing off of the bike. The kickstand is still down so I don’t do anything but bounce slightly from the momentum of his quick move before he’s right in front of me. Gentle yet firm hands lift my helmet from my head.
Sebastien drops it beside his, and in one fluid movement, grips my jaw, tilting my head back, kissing me. He’s strong enough to keep me right where he wants me, and I’m helpless to do anything but sit on the back of the bike while Sebastien kisses me deeply.
I go lightheaded. When he finally breaks the kiss, I’m too dazed to react as he lowers his hands to my ass. Next thing I know, he’s lifting me up, taking me off of the motorcycle, settling me on my sneakers directly in front of him.
“Fake?” he grates out. He snatches my hand, shoving it against the front of his jeans. “Does this feel fake to you?”
My fingers find the hard, heavy length of him straining against his jeans.
