Almost six months later . . .
“BLOODY HELL, WOMAN,” VICTOR GRUMBLES as he stills within me.
My hands are tangled in his hair, and when he stops, I pop my eyes open to glower at him. “What?” I hiss.
But as I go to remove my fingers, I know.
I did it again.
The gigantic ring Alexander gave to me on our wedding day seems to get tangled in Victor’s hair every time he makes love to me. This time, the hair is really twisted around it. I slip my finger out of it and watch with amusement as it dangles there like some sort of head jewelry.
He pouts as he pulls out of me and begins fussing with his locks. The man really does act like a woman most days. His hair is his most prized asset, and the fact that we nearly had to cut it last time just about had him in hysterics.
“Shall I get the scissors?” I taunt.
He green eyes fly to mine, and I swear he might cry. Suddenly completely turned off by him, I slide out of the bed to dress. We had a good couple of month run, but I’m done.
“I can’t get it out!” he shrieks in a high octave.
I sigh heavily and ignore his whining while I slip my robe on. Finally, after having watched his struggles enough, I storm over to him. With one quick movement, I snatch the ring and rip it from his hair.
“You bitch!” he roars, this time sounding more like a man.
I bite back a giggle as I stare at my ring, which still clutches a rather large chunk of his hair. I’m about to ask him to leave so that I may be alone, but he bursts from the bed toward me. He surprises me, so I don’t have time to react before he backhands me across the cheek. I’m momentarily stunned before I find my senses.
“Get out!” I scream at him.
The man is outraged now, though, and won’t hear of it. This time, he closes his fist and hits me hard in the belly. Stars dance in my vision as I gasp for breath.
“A-Alexander!” I cry out between ragged sobs.
Victor has left me doubled over as he finishes pulling on his clothes.
A thump against the wall has me thanking the heavens that he’s heard me and will come to rescue me from this sissy barbarian.
“Alexander!” My muffled moan rings out through the paper-thin walls.
More thumping.
I should have known. He isn’t going to save me. At the moment, he is deep inside some whore—just like every evening.
When I taste blood, I raise my fingers to my lip and see that it has been split from the blow to the face. My eyes lift, and I find that Victor is nearly dressed. Maybe, if I can bite my tongue for a few more minutes, he will leave me and I can crawl back into bed to nurse my wounds.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
“You two have a fucked-up marriage,” Victor bites out as he turns to stare at me in disgust.
Until now, I’ve been quite pleased with the arrangement. I’ve only had to visit with Alexander for supper each night so that he can bore me with more details of his home and family. Like a good wife, I smile and take notes.
“Just leave,” I sigh and point to the door. My body aches from his abuse and I can’t bear to look at him anymore.
I’m shocked that, instead of leaving, he stalks over to me and his palm closes around my throat. I slap at him, but he hauls me toward the very wall Alexander is fucking his whore against.
“He’d probably love for me to take his little problem off his hands,” he snarls, and spittle lands all over my face.
All of this because of his ridiculous hair.
People are insane.
When he squeezes tighter, I try to pound on the wall behind me to get Alexander’s attention. Likely, he’ll choose to ignore me much like he does all the time. My fist connects with the wall, but as I attempt to hit it, I realize that Victor’s grip around my neck is making me weak.
“What? Are you trying to let him know you need help? Here,” he snaps. “Let me assist you.”
He pulls my throat forward and proceeds to bash my head against the wall. I’m beginning to lose consciousness as I silently cry for a life I’ve always hated that is already ending.
Life never has been fair.
As my eyes fall shut, my thoughts find a memory of William.
A knock on my door startles me, and I rush over to answer it. I’m not surprised to see a brooding William standing on the other side. His broad shoulders are squared, and he appears to be angry.
“What?” I question and place my hands on my hips.
“You’re a witch,” he growls as he approaches me. “Why would you send that letter to my room?”
The letter.
I smile seductively at him. I told him all of the naughty things I wanted him to do to me. Since he was trying desperately to hold on to his virginity for Elisabeth, I thought I would relieve him of some of his pain.
“I simply stated the truth, William. If you want to make love to me—to sink your cock into someplace tight and hot—I’m your girl.”
He groans as he rubs his palms through his hair. When his blue eyes finally meet mine, though, they’re blazing.
“She can’t ever know. This can only happen to fulfill a need. I love her—not you,” he tells me coldly as he approaches.
I can hardly believe he loves her.
“Let’s make this quick. Lift your dress and bend over that chair.” He points toward the seating area in the kitchen.
I’m shocked at his bold words but do as I’ve been told. When the door slams behind me, I jump at the sound of it.
The moment I bend over the chair and lift my dress, I feel his palms on my arse. They’re warm as they scorch a trail of heat along my flesh. The sound of him undoing his trousers echoes behind me, and in the next fiery second, he hastily enters me, the sting of the burn taking my body over.
“Ahh!” I cry out at the sudden intrusion.
I snap my head over my shoulder to watch him as he takes me, but the look on his face frightens me. The menacing scowl indicates his disgust for me. The thought has barely formed in my head before he grabs a handful of my hair and shoves my face down onto the table.
“God, you feel so good,” he grunts.
I wait for him to touch me. To offer me pleasure. Anything.
All I get is the rhythmic thrusting and his testicles slapping the part of me that aches to be touched. I almost feel as if I could climax from it when he abruptly pulls out of me and spurts his hot orgasm on my arse.
“Um, maybe we can go lie down in my bed,” I murmur as it drips from the curve of my bottom and runs down my thighs.
His laugh is harsh. “And what? Let me hold you? Fuck off, Edith.”
I’m stung by his words, but I blink back the tears that threaten as I peer over at him. My dress falls back down while he’s busying himself with his trousers.
“Maybe you could love me instead?”
His blue eyes find mine, and he shakes his head. “Never. You’ll never be her.”
I chew on his words and have the desire to spit them on the floor at his feet. He turns on his heel and strides toward the door. As he opens it, he flashes me a grin so hot that my knickers nearly catch fire.
“Same time tomorrow?”
With a move that makes me hate myself a little more, I nod.
“Edith!” A deep, familiar voice snaps me out of my daze.
My head is no longer being slammed against the wall.
Alexander. And he’s charging toward us like a bull—a very beautiful bull. I blink away my dizziness to admire the way his muscles twitch and tighten as he stalks toward us. He’s wearing nothing but trousers and an enraged glare.
Victor sees him at the same moment I do and releases me. He doesn’t even have an opportunity to defend himself before Alexander smashes a fist into his face.
The sickening crunch of bone and flesh satisfies me to my very being.
Alexander, my hero.
I should stop him. I should attempt to pull him away from the man he’s crushing with each powerful blow to the head.
But I won’t.
I can’t.
I’m enraptured in the way he is defending me. His wife. Something niggles its way into my empty heart. I feel, for once, cared for and protected.
A high-pitched squeal rings out from the doorway. “Alexander! You’ll kill him!”
My eyes lift to the blonde with huge breasts. A white sheet barely covers her curvy body as she attempts to call my husband off from beating Victor into the wood floor. She sickens me. Even though he’s my husband for appearances purposes only, something upsets me when I see her. The events of the evening crush down on me, and I burst into tears.
I, Edith Lorelei Merriweather, am crying.
It doesn’t happen often.
Alexander tenses, and the fist that is poised quivers. He snaps his head to look at me and snares me with his feral look. His chest heaves with exertion, and blood drips from his clenched fist.
“Alexander, maybe we should call a doctor,” the blonde suggests.
He ignores her and studies my appearance. His eyes land on my lips, and he rises to his feet. With three short strides, his arms are around me.
“Are you okay?”
I nod against his chest, but the tears won’t stop. It feels safe here, tucked against him. Warm. Right.
“I-I-I’m s-sorry,” I stammer out.
For what? Getting beaten by some womanly man?
A growl rumbles in his chest. “Shh, I’m here now.”
I want him to lift me in his arms and carry me to my bed—to crawl in behind me and hold me until I’m long asleep.
“What about me?” the blonde demands behind him.
His voice takes on the edge that first frightened me on the eve of our wedding. “What about you?”
I hide away my triumph at having been chosen over the gorgeous tartlet and let my husband take care of me like he vowed to do not that long ago.