Chapter 33

33

June

When you said you love me, did you mean it? is what I want to ask him. But one look at my husband's hard features, and I lose the resolve to do so. Knox's scarred features have never felt menacing to me. And his indigo eyes might be cold, but I've glimpsed the tenderness that hides there. His expression now, though, has nothing soft about it. If I asked him the question... I'm not sure I'd like the answer. Chances are, he said it to convince his grandfather of the veracity of our wedding, and if that's the case... I don't want to know. So, I settle for glancing down at the white cliffs of Dover which, from this height, feel like I'm looking at a picture postcard brought to life.

We're on our way to Paris in the Davenports' private jet because that was Arthur's gift to us. A trip to Paris for our honeymoon. I didn't realize what the gift was until we arrived at the private airport located less than an hour's drive from Arthur's place.

My husband hasn't spoken a word since we left his grandfather and brothers and drove there. I asked after my clothes, and he made a dismissive gesture and said he'd order everything we need. The look on his face was grim so, while I'd have preferred to get my own pajamas, I kept quiet. And now, he's back to being his brooding self because he hasn't said a word to me, not even when we boarded the plane.

I shoot him a sideways glance to find he's absorbed on his phone. Which reminds me— I pull out my own phone, which I've ignored all day, and forward emails that need Knox's attention. The rest, I send to Mary, who messaged me earlier to congratulate me and say she'll be covering for me until I return.

"You don't have to do that." He scowls.

"What do you mean?" I look up from my device to find he's staring at his. Apparently, he has eyes at the back of his head, and the sides, too.

"I already told you, you don't need a job. You're my wife," he explains in a patient voice that sets my teeth on edge.

"And I told you, I want to keep my job," I say slowly.

He blows out a breath. "We can park this discussion until we get back."

His voice rings with authority, and that part of me that wants to please him wants to agree right away. But the stubborn side of me won't let it go. "There is no discussion." I set my jaw. "I like my job and want to keep it."

I expect him to pull some line about being my boss, etc., but he simply nods. "Fine."

"Fine?" I stare. "You're okay with it?"

"Sure, it's your job for as long as you want it." His tone is sincere, but he hasn't raised his glance from his phone. How annoying. At least he's sitting next to me and didn't choose one of the other seats on this flight far away from me.

"I have to admit, Arthur's gift of this honeymoon trip caught me by surprise." I try, once more, to engage him in conversation.

He grunts in reply. Seems we went from being newly married to already being in a twenty-five-year-old relationship within hours.

I glance around the luxurious aircraft again, then frown at the approaching stewardess. She has a slim figure shown to advantage in her tight skirt. She ignores me and looks at my husband. "Can I get you anything else Mr. Davenport?" she simpers.

My husband doesn't look up from his phone.

"Anything at all?"

I begin to roll my eyes at the insinuation .

My husband shakes his head. "I'm good."

Does she give up? Of course, not. "We have some caviar, which I know is your personal favorite."

Implied in her words is that she knows about his tastes and that he's flown this jet with her on board. And the way she's eating him up with her eyes, anger squeezes my guts. I slide my arm through his and place my head on his shoulder. "He doesn't like caviar anymore."

"He doesn't?" She frowns.

"I—" Knox looks up from his phone. Then, to his credit, he looks from her to me and, wrapping his arm about my waist, pulls me even closer. "I don't. I have a special wedding night dinner planned for my wife, so I'd rather not spoil my appetite, thank you."

"Oh." She looks crestfallen, then recovers her composure. "May I take this opportunity to congratulate both of you on your wedding…" She lowers her head, then turns and leaves.

I begin to pull away, but Knox holds me in place. "Let me go," I mutter under my breath.

"Were you jealous? Is that what brought about this show of affection?"

"Why should I be jealous? And you're right, it was a show of affection. The operative word being show ." I look to the side and out of the window again. We're still flying over the channel and the white caps of the waves are visible. It feels so bleak below, but the heat of his body against my side makes me feel secure. I hate that my body insists I can trust him, but my chattering mind doesn't know what to make of him yet.

He runs his fingers down the side of my lace-covered arm, and a shudder squeezes my lower belly. His scent surrounds me, and tucked under his armpit, I feel protected and distanced from everything outside this plane. I sense him looking down at me, and unable to stop myself, I tun toward him and tip up my chin. Our gazes meet, and the chemistry always simmering between us flares. My nipples harden; my stomach flip-flops. Every part of me is so tuned into him, and oh my god, those eyes of his are so blue, and his gaze so deep, it feels like I'm being drawn into them…into him.

"Knox," I whisper.

His nostrils flare. He lowers his gaze to my mouth, and then he bends his head and presses his mouth to mine. It's firm and authoritative, and the moment his lips touch mine, I feel any remaining resistance inside me dissolve. He slides his tongue over mine, and lust shoots through my veins. My head spins. My pussy clenches. I melt into him. He slides his arm down to grip my hip. The next moment, I gasp, for he's hauled me over the arm of the seat. He maneuvers me so I'm straddling him with my knee on either side of his waist. Thankfully, the skirt of my gown allows for such a position. He slides his palms down to grip my arse, and I gasp.

"There are people watching."

"I don't see anyone," he says without taking his gaze off my breasts. "You're so fucking sexy; it does my head in whenever I'm near you."

"Not as sexy as that stewardess though." I curse myself as soon as the words are out. I don't want to come across as needy or insecure but damn, if that wasn't a tell.

He scowls at me. "You're the most beautiful woman in the world, and let no one else tell you otherwise."

My heart melts. "Not that I believe you, but thanks."

His scowl intensifies. "Are you fishing for compliments? Because let me tell you, I've never had a problem controlling myself, until I met you. I keep telling myself I need to keep my distance from you, but one look at you, one whiff of your scent, a brush of my skin against yours, and everything goes out the window."

He squeezes my butt with enough force that pain streaks up my spine. And yet, I'm so turned on. Moisture pools between my legs. I look into his eyes, so dark they're like indigo pools you'd glimpse if you could look into the heart of a glacier. There's so much turmoil in them, I can't stop myself from cupping his cheek.

"Something's bothering you." I search his features. "Tell me what it is?"

Surprise flits across his features. Then just like that, he pulls down the mask I've often seen him wear when he wants to hide his feelings.

"Don't do that," I say in frustration. "Please don't disguise your emotions. I know you feel more than you let on. I know you're much more empathetic than you'd like to come across. I know you have feelings for me. It's why, when Arthur asked you if you love me, you said yes."

"Like I could say anything else. That would have defeated the purpose of this charade. "

"Charade?" My heart turns into glass. "You're calling this marriage a charade?"

"Isn't it?" He arches an eyebrow.

Argh, I hate when he answers my questions with one of his. "Stop evading the question. Answer me, Knox. Is it as fake you want to make it out to be? Because if it were, you wouldn't have gone against Arthur's plan and walked away from the arranged alliance he proposed and asked me to marry you."

"You think I'm in love with you, and that's why I asked you to marry me?" he asks in a derisive voice. And I hate it. And I hate the haughty expression he's managed to school his features into.

"What other reason would there be for you to do it?" I jut out my chin. "You could have paid anyone else to marry you, but you didn't. You could have gone ahead with the match Arthur proposed; instead, you decided it had to be me."

His gaze narrows. "Careful, you're overstepping."

There's that familiar hard edge to his tone. Ooh, he's getting riled up. My nerve-endings crackle. A shiver runs up my spine. "That's not overstepping"—I lean in until my lips are close to his—"this is." I dig my teeth into his lower lip until I draw blood. He doesn't even wince. But when I sit back and lick my lips, a dangerous look comes into his eyes. His nostrils flare. His left eyelid twitches and... Oh shit, I might have crossed the line there.

"Um, I think I'll move back to my seat now." I begin to sidle off, but his big fingers cup my backside so I can't move.

"Knox let me go," I demand.

"Too late. You wanted a rise out of me? You got it, baby." The next second, I yelp, for he's flipped me over on my front across this lap. The seat is wide enough that my entire torso fits across it. The handle digs into the middle of my thighs on one side and I grab the one on the other side. Then he slides my wedding dress up my thighs. Cool air kisses my butt. A second later, pain cracks across my behind.