“You can’t be serious! I’ll love and honor you always, Christian. But obey? I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” I’m perfectly serious.
“Because it’s the twenty-first century!”
“And?” How can she oppose me on this? The conversation is not going the way I expected.
“Well, I’d hope that we could come to some consensus on issues within our marriage through discussion. You know…communicating with each other,” she continues.
“I’m hoping for that, too. But if we can’t, and we reach an impasse and you go off and put yourself in unnecessary danger—” All manner of horrific scenarios flit through my mind, and unease spawns exponentially in my gut.
Her face softens as she relaxes, her eyes glowing with understanding. “Christian, you always think the worst. You worry too much.” She reaches out to stroke my face, her fingers soft and gentle against my skin.
“Ana. I need this,” I whisper.
With a heavy sigh, she withdraws her hand and stares at me, as if she’s trying to convey a message via telepathy. “Christian, I’m not religious, but our wedding vows will be sacred, and I’m not prepared to make a vow I might break.”
Her response is a gut punch, echoing Carrick’s words when he lectured me about Elena. We are talking about the sanctity of marriage. And if you have no respect for that, then you have no business being married.
I stare at her as my anxiety boils over into frustration. “Anastasia, be reasonable.”
She shakes her head. “Christian. You be reasonable. You know you have a tendency to overreact. The answer’s no.”
Me? Overreact?
I glare at her, and for the first time in a long while I don’t know what to say.
“You’re just tense about the wedding,” she says, gently. “We both are.”
“I’m a hell of a lot more tense knowing you’re not willing to obey. Ana, reconsider. Please.” I sweep my hand through my hair and stare into her big blue eyes, but I see nothing except her determination and courage. She’s not budging.
Fuck.
This is getting us nowhere, and the grasp on my temper is slipping. It’s time to back away before I say something I regret. I get up and try one last attempt. “Think about it. But for now, I have some work to finish.” And before she can stop me, I leave the library and head back into my study, trying to think of some way to get her to see sense.
One of us has to be in charge, for fuck’s sake.
I stomp over to my desk and slump into my chair, feeling blindsided by her attitude and resentful that I’m only now finding out that she won’t obey.
To hell with it.
I’ll have to make her see reason.
How?
Shit.
I’m too wound up to think clearly, so I shelve my frustration and open my computer to look through my e-mails. The good news is that my new sailplane will be arriving from Germany next week. It’s being shipped to my hangar at the Port of Ephrata. I allow myself a moment of excitement, a glider built for two. I want to run and tell Ana, but right now I’m mad at her.
Damn.
It’s depressing. To cheer myself up I reread the specs for the new aircraft, and when I’ve exhausted all there is to read, I get back to my financial reports.
A tentative knock interrupts me.
“Come in.”
Ana pokes her head around the door. “It’s nearly midnight,” she says with a winsome smile. She eases the door open and stands on the threshold dressed in one of her satin nightgowns. The soft material caresses her body, molding itself to every curve and dip, leaving nothing to my imagination. My mouth dries and my body responds, hot and heavy with longing.
“Are you coming to bed?” she whispers.
I ignore my arousal. “I have a few more things to do.”
“Okay.” She smiles, and I half smile in return, because I love her. But I’m not going to concede on this. She has to come to her senses. Ana turns to leave but gives me a quick provocative look over her shoulder before closing the door and leaving.
Once more I’m on my own.
Hell.
I want her.
But she won’t obey and that’s pissed me off. Big-time.
I turn back to the latest figures from Barney’s division at GEH. They’re not nearly as seductive as the delectable, and disobedient, Miss Steele.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Ana is fast asleep when I crawl into bed beside her. Ever thoughtful, she’s left my bedside light switched on so I won’t be lost in the dark. And yet, that’s exactly how I feel. Lost. And if I’m being honest, discouraged. Why can’t she understand? It’s not that big a deal, is it? Is it?
Watching her lovely, tranquil face and the steady rise and fall of her breasts as she sleeps, an ugly undercurrent looms beneath my ribs; it’s envy. I’m lying here, bewildered and miserable, and she’s sleeping like she hasn’t a care in the world.