Prologue
Adeline
“Here’s to Mr. and Mrs. Fox.” Hudson raises his glass and smiles at me. “I wish Adeline all the best surviving my brother. I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, gorgeous.”
My husband’s arm tightens around my waist right before his lips brush my cheek. “She knows.”
I do.
I know very well what the future holds for me.
Turning to Jameson, I cup his face. “Maybe he’s the one who needs the best wishes. Maybe he’ll have to survive me.”
Those dark eyes of Jameson’s flash with a warning only I can see as laughter erupts among our guests.
“Oh, he’ll survive you,” Owen, one of Jameson’s closest friends, calls out. “How could he not? A man would be a fool if he didn’t.”
I look at Owen in time to catch the wink he shoots me. It helps ease the nerves still racing through me. Thank God for him. This isn’t the first time he’s helped me and I’m sure it won’t be the last.
“Eyes on me, Adeline,” Jameson commands in a hushed tone for my ears only. His rough huskiness scatters desire over my skin. Desire I don’t want anything to do with.
I meet his gaze again. What I see there sucks the breath from my lungs. Desire that matches my own. Jameson hasn’t made any secret of the fact he wants to fuck me, but this, what I’m seeing now, is on a whole new level.
He tightens his hold on me, pulling my body hard against his. Far too close for my liking.
Everything about him invades me.
His arm around me that is made of the kind of muscle most men never know in their lifetime.
His breath against my skin.
His spicy, woody, way-too-fucking-masculine scent that I’ve come to hate over the last three months because it drives me to distraction in a way I don’t want to be driven to distraction.
Bending his face to mine, he kisses me. It’s not our first kiss; that was after we exchanged vows. But this is the first time he’s forced me to give him more of myself than I want to give.
I wasn’t ready for this.
Certainly not in front of our 200 guests.
But fuck, the man can kiss. And I like it. I like it more than I should. I like it a whole lot more than I want to. Even with that goddamn beard of his.
Keeping one hand on my waist, he brings his other hand up to my face and threads his fingers through my hair while deepening the kiss. His tongue slides over mine, as dominant as he is, and I have to use every ounce of control not to moan.
I’ve kissed a lot of men in my life, but none as skilled as Jameson. He kisses like he lives: intensely, demanding, taking what he wants.
It sweeps me away.
Shuts my brain down.
Turns me into the kind of woman I swore I’d never be again.
The kind that gives a man too much power.
I press my hands to his chest and push, attempting to disentangle my lips from his. I don’t push hard, only enough for him to feel it, not for anyone to see it.
He feels it, all right, and he ignores it, holding me in place, keeping our lips locked.
I push again.
A little harder this time.
Again, he ignores me, his lips demanding my submission. But I’m done. He might think he has all the power here, but he doesn’t. Not by a long shot.
Taking charge, I pull my mouth from his. Our eyes meet and it gives me great satisfaction to see his displeasure. That’s something I’ve started to strive for over the last three months, and every time I achieve my goal, it helps ease some of the pain he inflicted on me five years ago.
Our guests, who can’t see our power struggle, cheer us on. They only see the love we take great care to project to the world. They want more of our whirlwind romance.
Ignoring them, Jameson leans in close and growls, “Don’t ever do that again.”
“Since when did the definition of husband change to dictator?”
He works his jaw, his eyes flashing with more displeasure. “You’ll do well to remember what you’re getting out of this marriage.”
“And you’ll do well to remember that I am not, and never will be, the kind of woman you can control. I went over every line of our marriage contract, every single word, and not once did it mention that I have to allow you to force yourself on me.”
He keeps his hands on me, unwilling to yield. In the end, it’s his phone that causes him to let go. A call comes in and he pulls the phone from his pocket.
Glancing back up at me after checking the caller ID, he says, “This conversation isn’t finished, Adeline.” Then, stabbing at the phone, he barks, “This better be important, Ashton. I’m at my wedding.”
Ashton says something to him that causes him to walk away and exit the room. I watch him leave, my hate for him roaring to life.
How dare he think he can tell me what I can and can’t do?
We survived our engagement, just, and I thought I’d made it clear I won’t be controlled. It seems I haven’t been clear enough. Going forward, I will be. I’ll make it crystal fucking clear that I have no intention of bowing down to his demands. We might be husband and wife now, and we might have to get through a year together, but that doesn’t mean I have to ask “how fucking high” whenever he says “jump.”
Jameson Fox might reign over everything in his kingdom, but he’ll never reign over me.
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