Chapter 15

Quentin

Her pupils dilate, color smears her features, her neck, the creamy skin of her décolletage. Her lips are slightly parted, her eyes hazy with lust.

I tighten my hold on her waist. I'm this close to throwing her down on the bathroom floor and having her right here, but that would be all wrong. I've never wanted a woman as much as I want her. Nothing could have stopped me from walking up that aisle and proposing to her. Not when everything in my body had been pulled to her. It was a visceral reaction, a connection which has only grown stronger since.

Question is, does she feel the same way?

"Do you always say what's on your mind?" she asks, then shakes her head. "No, don't answer that." She tugs at her hand; I let her go.

She doesn't want to answer my earlier questions. That's okay. I can wait until she tells me she's ready to explore this part of our relationship further.

I reach for my T-shirt and am about to shrug it on when she nods toward it, "let me at least wash it and dry it for you first."

I scoff, "It's only blood and my own blood at that. Unless—" I shoot her a sly glance, "— unless the real reason you want me to keep my T-shirt off is because you want to keep admiring my abs?" I say it to get a rise out of her and she doesn't disappoint me.

"Whatever, be macho and wear the T-shirt stained with your own blood," she flounces off.

I allow myself a low laugh. Seeing her all riled up and shoot arrows at me with those gorgeous flashing eyes of hers is my favorite past time. I could get used to it. In fact, I very much want to be the recipient of all her emotions throughout the day. I rise to my feet. "Move in with me."

"What?" She pauses halfway to heading out of the bathroom.

"I noticed you were packing your things."

"So?"

"Clearly, you share this place with Felix and can't stay here." I brush past her into the bedroom, then glare meaningfully at the pile of men's clothes folded on a chair in the corner. No way was that my son's doing. "You do his laundry?" My jaw tightens.

She follows me in and wrings her hands. "Uh, sometimes."

Which means she always does it for him.

I drag my fingers through my hair. I know my son hasn't picked up after himself a day in his life. Which is my fault. I wasn't around long enough to discipline him. I wasn't there to help him set boundaries or help him self-regulate. I stayed away and let my aunt deal with him. And while she tried, she never managed to be strict with him. The result? Felix got away with a lot. By the time I realized what was happening, he'd already grown into a teenager. That's when I tried to be home more often. I tried to correct his behavior but that didn't help. In fact, it often made things worse. I stopped trying after a while, preferring to keep the peace.

"You have to move in with me sometime. Why not now?" I throw out casually.

"Hold on." She throws up her hand. "I don't recall agreeing to marry you."

"But you want to." I infuse authority into my voice. "You"re stopping yourself from following your instinct, so let me tell you again that you don"t have a choice."

Her pupils dilate. Her cheeks flush. Then she shakes her head, walks to the window and stares out. "It's not fair that you can back me into a corner like this. It's not fair that you have the money and?—"

"—and you need money, while I need a wife to ensure I get my inheritance from my father. We can help each other, Raven."

She turns to face me. "It… it's not right."

"It's everything that is right. The chemistry between us confirms to my family that our relationship is not a farce."

"But it is," she spits out.

"No one seeing us together will ever doubt that there's a connection between us; not even Felix." At once, her features pale. Fuck, I shouldn't have mentioned my son's name. I move toward her, but she stiffens. I slow to a stop.

"Move in with me. Give us a chance to get to know each other, while we work out the details of the wedding."

"How can I, knowing it's going to hurt Felix?"

"I'll… talk to him. I'll ensure he gives us his blessings."

"You'd do that?" She frowns.

"I'll call him tomorrow." The idea makes my stomach drop, but that's okay. I am a man, and more than that, I am his father. I owe him this. "I want him to come to our wedding. I want to make sure I make peace with my son. If there's anything I've learned in the last few years, it's that life is short. And I intend to make up for my past misdeeds with my son."

"Are you sure he'll listen to you?"

That twisting sensation in my stomach intensifies. "I'm not sure, but I have to try."

"And how do you plan on doing that?" Her brow furrows. "I saw how he looked at you. How the two of you spoke to each other. He doesn't like you."

"He hates me"—I raise a shoulder—"but that's a start."

"What do you mean?"

"If he were indifferent toward me, I'd worry. The fact that he's not, shows he harbors some feelings for me. So, maybe they're negative. It gives me something to build on. It's better than having nothing to go on."

"Are you always this confident?" She half smiles.

"The only thing I'm confident of is that our marriage?—"

"Fake marriage."

"—will be beneficial for both of us. And it won't be fake once we consummate it."

Blotches of color flare on her cheeks. "Do you have to bring everything back to sex?"

"When its such a strong link between us? Yes. I want you and you want me. It gives us a good base to build on."

"There it is. That arrogant, dominant, overbearing, highly inflated ego of yours, which is never far from making its presence known."

I shrug. "I don't hide what I am."

"Some of us haven't had that privilege. Some of us have had to fight our natural instincts so we can do what is right."

"There is a thin line between right and wrong; no one knows it better than me. I?—"

The door to the apartment opens. She glances past me, and the way her gaze widens, I know who it is before I turn.