What The Greek's Wife Needs - Dani Collins Page 0,38

you to pay for it.” Seriously, how was she not getting this? “I will.”

“No.”

He threw his head back, insulted all over again. “Why not?”

“I’m an accountant.” She was red faced and strident, hands cutting through the air with agitation. “All the debits and credits have to balance or I can’t sleep. I already feel like I’m in your debt for whatever Georgiou does on Illi’s behalf.”

“Quantify it, then,” he shot back, losing patience. “Give me a number for the damage I did to your family. Deduct the value of your freedom and Illi’s future well-being. When you have all of that calculated on a spreadsheet, we’ll sit down and decide whether or not you can accept a damned sundress.”

“But it’s not just a sundress, is it?” she cried, not cowed in the least.

“No. It isn’t,” he agreed just as forcefully. “It’s couture gowns and designer shoes. Jewelry. Spa visits if you want your toenails painted and handbags that go for five figures and are only big enough to carry a lipstick. I’m not telling you what to wear, Tanja, but you’re my wife. These aren’t gifts or bribes. These are the things you’ll need in the life we’ll be living. If we were going to the jungle, I’d buy you a mosquito net hat.”

“But I’m not your wife!” She hugged herself defensively. “That’s what I’m saying.”

Something fierce welled in him, something he couldn’t interpret and didn’t want to. It made him want to throw aside the long table between them and pull her close.

“You are,” he asserted, speaking reflexively and straight from the center of himself. “Until it’s safe for Illi that we divorce, you and I are married.” He pointed at her. “And I’m going to do it right this time. I’ll provide what you both need.” That was not negotiable.

“So you expect me to just...” Her hand waved helplessly, and her brows came together with consternation. She bit her lip, tucking her hand under her elbow again, asking warily, “What do you expect?”

It struck him what she was asking and why she’d been so contrary for the last few minutes. It was a question that had been dancing around in his head while he avoided answering it himself. The way they were crossing swords right now told him the crackling heat between them wasn’t going away. Hell, their midnight encounter had telegraphed that message loud and clear.

He drew a long drink of oxygen, trying to feed his lizard brain so it didn’t take over and make him say or do something stupid. Somehow he had to remain civilized when what he wanted was purely instinctual.

“Given the way we both reacted last night,” he said carefully, “I suggest we resume marital activities.” His voice originated somewhere in the base of his chest, and heat detonated below his belt just thinking of what that might entail.

“Marital activities,” she repeated in an astonished huff. A pink flush hit her cheeks, though. Pretty and shy and deeply aware.

Her flickering gaze was avoiding his, but he could see the latent sensations were teasing her, same as they were him. All he’d been thinking about since Illi interrupted them was that he wanted to crush Tanja close and celebrate her and be inside her.

“What do you expect?” he asked gruffly.

“I don’t know what to expect from you!” Her anger resurfaced in a frustrated pang that caused a twist in his chest. “One minute you’re so sweet with Illi and acting like a superhero, rescuing me and getting me a doctor. It makes me think I was right to be so enamored with you five years ago. Then you’re ordering me to stay married and wear high heels to gala luncheons and resume having sex.”

“I will never order you to have sex. Tell me you know that,” he growled. “It’s pretty damned insulting if you don’t.”

Her mouth quirked in concession. “I do, but you’re still expecting a lot.”

“Oh, like fatherhood?”

She stared flatly at him, refusing to engage on that one.

“Am I really expecting that much? It’s dating, Tanja. Dinner and dancing and cocktail parties. Things we should have done rather than jump into marriage. What part of that bothers you? You’ve never been shy with strangers, so don’t act like talking to people is a chore.”

“I schmoozed my father’s customers, asked them where they’d been and where they were going. That doesn’t mean I know how to talk about history or modern art.” She looked to her nails. “You didn’t find me that interesting or