Chapter Seventy-Three

Grayson

H er gaze on mine, her breathing more rapid than usual, the inherent and natural sexy sway of her hips unscripted, my woman came at me.

Her exotic scent hit me a second before I caught a strand of her hair and made a calculated move only she would hear. " Wife ."

She sucked in a breath, her step faltered, and she looked up at me. "Grayson Ryker Gautier." She briefly searched my eyes, then her expression locked down. "Assuming Grayson is your first name?"

Taking the side of her face, I leaned in. "Husband or sir are acceptable responses when I call you wife." I stroked my thumb down her cheek and over her full bottom lip. "If you feel the need to expand on that, I'm willing to visit that conversation, but understand my flexibility on the subject matter only extends so far. And yes, my first name is Grayson. As far as my surname, I usually drop the Gautier." Increasing the pressure of my grip, I gave her a warning. "And I never lied to you. Remember that because I'm not repeating it again."

Heat spread across her golden cheeks, and I knew what was coming before she opened her mouth. "You may not have lied, but you omitted many things. Including your surname, where you were bringing me today, and the fact that those papers you had me sign eight years ago were actual legal documents when you knew I could not read in English yet."

"Is there a question in there?"

"I do not know yet."

Yes, she did. It was the same sticking point she'd been circling. "You saw your real name on the marriage license. Mine was there too. I wasn't hiding it. Are you telling me you wouldn't have signed if you'd known it was legally binding?" I'd found the civil record of her birth in her abandoned house before I'd tracked her down. It was how I knew her name. Once I'd gotten her stateside, I'd cut corners and paid off who I had to in order to get her an official ID in her birth name. Then I'd used it for the marriage certificate—before I'd wiped our digital footprint.

She glanced nervously past my shoulder. "This is hardly an appropriate time to discuss it."

Purposely blocking her from my mother's view, I raised an eyebrow. "Would it have been more appropriate in the shower? Or in the bedroom when I had you naked?"

The flush on her face grew, but her voice went quieter. "I know what you are doing."

"Not allowing you to avoid the conversation, lie to yourself about what you want or why you're really upset? You're right. That's exactly what I'm doing."

"This is not a fair conversation. You never ask me what I want. I know why I am upset, and your mother is waiting."

That's what I was looking for. The unfiltered openness in that second comment. Honesty I could address. Locked-up emotions I couldn't. "Thank you." I touched my lips to her forehead.

"What are you thanking me for?" Still holding on to agitation, it wasn't a question. It was a demand.

"We'll discuss it later." When I could more than cup her face and swipe across that full bottom lip I wanted to feel between my teeth.

Her pulse rapid, her breaths shorter than usual, she looked exactly how I wanted her to look. Vulnerable, raw, and mine. But when she spoke, her voice and reply came out controlled. "Of course."

In a rare moment of regret, I almost wished I'd never taught her the protocols I'd adopted for being invisible. The coolness, when she brought it out, wasn't anything like the girl I'd found in that Turkish village with more sheep and insurgents than civilization. That girl had looked at me like I was the second coming.

But this woman in front of me now?

She was my own doing.

Reserved, poised, and controlled.

Yes, she'd had those traits in her long before I'd found her. She would've had to with the unrest in the area, no father, and a mother that needed her as much to tend to their flock as to stay vigilant against outside threats from thieves and insurgents. But she'd also been curious, trusting, and hungry.

That uncurbed hunger was what I missed most.

When I first brought her to the States, I saw it in her eyes every time I'd catch her looking at me. I'd lived for those furtive glances, the shy flush to her cheeks, and the soft innocence in her voice.

Now that unchecked hunger was gone—the last of it destroyed on the top floor of a high-rise in Miami Beach.

I'd never apologize for showing her who I was, but I knew what'd been decimated that night. I knew what trust was to her. In a court of omission, I was guilty.

Paying my penance, but taking one more inch of leeway, I stroked her pulse point as I pressed my lips to her temple. "Hold on to that honesty, beautiful." Releasing her, I nodded toward the kitchen. "Go."