Monster A Dark Arranged Marriage Romance - Vanessa Waltz Page 0,17
he wouldn’t know an honest way of living if it bit him in the ass. He’d shot it down.
Ghost shadowed my footsteps as we wandered out through the gate. Tony’s men lingered around the Lexus, their arguing carrying up the road. At my approach, Christian smoothed his flyaway salt and pepper hair.
“This is where I stop.” Ghost hooked my arm, tugging me to a halt. “Can’t be too careful these days. That guinea’s olive oil–slicked hands are all over Chelsea.”
I ripped his hand off me. “You scared of him?”
“Give me a half hour—no—fifteen minutes alone in a room. I’ll have him screaming like a bitch. By the way,” he purred, dropping the animosity. “Did he take your virginity, or was he too small to get the job done? Rumor has it he left you on your wedding night.”
How did he know that?
My eyes widened before I waved him off.
“I guess he’s not man enough for you.”
“If anything, he’s too much man.”
“Standing by your husband, huh? I get it.” Ghost pounded my shoulder, his gaze lidded with admiration. “I know you’ll give this marriage everything you got. I’m just not convinced Costa will.”
My stomach churned.
“Evie, over here!” Christian beckoned me, his face stricken.
I stormed toward him as he jogged to meet me. Christian ushered me in the armored car, his expression grim.
“What’s the matter?”
“Tony found out.” Christian swung into the driver’s seat, blowing out a tense breath. “I’m fucking dead. We shouldn’t have come.”
My mouth thinned. “I’ll call him and explain.”
“No need. You’re meeting Tony for dinner right now.”
Seven
Evie
I’m grateful that my husband keeps our marriage fresh.
Dinner was at a sex club.
Black and gold dominated the dungeon-like atmosphere. Sanctum’s 1920s prohibition vibe reminded me of the snootier bars in the city where you needed a password to enter, with several glaring differences: Girls draped the leather couches in rhinestone-encrusted pantyhose. Nipple tassels dangled like ornaments. Women pleasured men on their knees, on the furniture, in rooms that echoed with high-pitched sighs, everywhere.
After all his bashing of biker culture.
Tony certainly had no problem with the models in pasties, or he wouldn’t have dragged me here. Tony stood from the table in a fluid motion. He’d slipped into a navy blazer and slacks with a patterned shirt. The dim lighting hid the details, but his debonair looks hadn’t been my imagination. I hadn’t seen him in weeks, but shock nudged my ribs at his breathtaking beauty.
He strolled toward me, somehow more gorgeous than my memories. He’d barely tamed his hair, and a cowlick curled near his temple. His shaven beard showcased the perfect anatomy given to him by his supermodel mother. Deep amber flickered in his dark eyes, the passion in them making me lightheaded.
“Evie,” he grumbled.
He drew me in a gentle embrace until one breath stopped us from kissing. Then his lips caught mine in a perfunctory kiss, a show for the bodyguard behind me.
I fell for it anyway.
He swept his arm around my back, cupping my head. His lips touched mine, soft and searching, the electricity just as strong as I remembered. The air seemed to catch fire, and I couldn’t breathe, stunned by this feather-light assault.
He pulled away before I found my feet on solid ground. He could’ve been in an elevator for all the emotion he showed, but I needed an ice bath. He gazed at me coolly, his attention narrowing on my bare thighs, my cutoffs, and the Harley-Davidson T-shirt.
“The dress code was upscale, but I slipped into something comfortable,” I quipped, all saccharine poison. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“Why wouldn’t I want my wife’s ass to hang out for everyone to see?” His graveled edge barely drowned out the violent thudding of my heart. “You look like a club girl.”
“Yeah? You look like an olive oil salesman.”
“I could sell the shit out of some olive oil.”
He hooked my waist and led me away from Christian.
“What are we doing here?”
“Celebrating,” he growled, flashing me a bland smile. “It’s our one-month anniversary.”
A cloud settled over Tony’s features, and dread pitted my stomach.
“I’m not in the mood for whatever sadism you have planned.”
When we reached the table, he ripped back the chair. He pushed me down, glowering at me like I’d maxed out his credit cards on lingerie.
“What is wrong with you?”
“I’m stuck with you.” He sank into the seat beside mine. “My hands are so tied they might as well be in cuffs. So my new purpose in life…is you. My wife.”