Modern Romance July 2019 Books 5-8. Jane Porter

you I wouldn’t be a tender husband. I tried to protect you from who I am. You didn’t listen. You insisted you wanted this marriage. This is who I am.”

      “And who are you?”

      “Hard. Cold. Indifferent to the needs of others.”

      She swallowed with difficulty, refusing to let herself be intimidated. “You weren’t indifferent in bed.”

      Silence followed, so thick and heavy that Kassiani could barely breathe, and then he leaned forward, leaning so close that she could see the silver flecks in his gray eyes. “Sex is the only time I feel anything, and I prefer sex rough. I like to dominate. I enjoy the power. It turns me on.”

      No wonder he didn’t want anyone around them.

      Kass swallowed again, her face flushing, her body tingling, wondering why she wasn’t scared as much as...aroused. “Fascinating. This is a new world to me. Do you like toys? Whips? Nipple clamps? Handcuffs?”

      * * *

      Damen pushed his coffee cup back, incredulous.

      Kassiani might gaze innocently at him, all big brown eyes and sweet smiling lips, but he was beginning to discover that her placid cheerfulness hid a very sharp mind and an extraordinarily steely spine.

      “No nipple clamps or whips yet,” he answered, checking his testy tone, not wanting her to know just how much she tried his temper. “But there’s a place for handcuffs, and the right toy.”

      Her cheeks turned an even darker pink but she held his gaze. “So since we’re on our honeymoon, why wouldn’t you want to have sex every night, with or without toys? Unless, you don’t really want...me.”

      “I do want you.” In fact, he’d like to bend her over the breakfast table and lift her pretty navy sundress and show her how good it felt when he took her from behind. He was certain he’d get more than a few pants and hoarse cries of pleasure. “But I don’t need to have sex every night,” he added, grateful the table with its blue-and-white linen cloth hid his lap and his thick, heavy erection.

      “But do you want it?” she asked. “Every night?”

      His jaw nearly dropped. Her questions astounded him. “I don’t find it necessary to impose on my wife every night.”

      “Even if your wife wants your company in her bed?”

      She might have been a virgin when he married her, but she wasn’t an innocent. The woman was provocative as hell. “I don’t spend the night with anyone. After sex, I always leave.”

      “Why?”

      “Because that is how I prefer it.” He ground down, jaw tightening. “It’s not necessary for me to explain myself to you, and I’m not sure why I’m even trying.”

      “Maybe because your wife wants to get to know you, and seeks to understand you.”

      “There is nothing to understand. Some weeks we might have sex nightly. Other weeks we might have sex a couple times a week. It depends on my work schedule and my mood.”

      “So I’m not to initiate?”

      A picture of her taking him in her mouth flashed through his head and burned all over, so hot he felt as if he might pop out of his skin. “I didn’t say that.”

      “So if I want to sleep with you each night, I can approach you?”

      And just like that, he hardened all over again, his shaft throbbing, aching to be freed. “You can’t want it every night. In fact, I’m sure you don’t want it every night. You’ve only just lost your virginity.”

      “The point is, what if I want you to come to see me at night? What if I want your company in my bed?”

      “This isn’t a love marriage. I’m not going to romance you.”

      “I don’t believe I asked for romance.”

      Damen wasn’t accustomed to being questioned, or challenged. No one questioned him and he couldn’t quite believe she was now. What did she hope to gain? Was this some kind of ill-conceived marital test? “Are you some kind of sex fiend?” he drawled, deliberately using words he was sure would offend her. It was best to check her now, let her know that he wasn’t her father, he didn’t invite arguments or challenges. He was a traditional male, and he was expecting a traditional wife. Those were the terms of their marriage and she had agreed just the other night, promising to put his comfort before all else.

      If he’d thought his offensive words would check her, he was wrong. Her eyes didn’t well with tears. There was no quiver of her lower lip. Instead she held her place, lips curved, chin tilted, expression cheerfully defiant. “Would you be unhappy if I was a sex fiend?”

      “You’re not,” he answered shortly, impatiently. “You were a virgin just the other night. The sheets bore witness to your lack of experience.”

      “But maybe I have tapped into long-suppressed desires. Or—” she paused, head tilted, expression thoughtful “—or, I have discovered how much I enjoyed being with you.” She paused again, a dark winged eyebrow arching. “Or is that not allowed? Am I not to have any desire of my own? Am I to only serve you but not feel pleasure in our coupling?”

      Damen ground his teeth together, beyond exasperated. She was pushing him, and hard, and this was only day three of their marriage. “You’re not playing by the rules,” he gritted.

      Her winged eyebrow rose higher. “I should have realized you had rules. Because, of course, a man like you has dozens of rules, rules that can’t be challenged. So list them now and we can be on the same page.”

      “You are not the meek, compliant woman you pretended to be.”

      “I never pretended to be meek, or compliant. If you recall, I fought for you, and I fought for our marriage.”

      The fact that she was right didn’t improve his mood. “Are you goading me?”

      “I just think it’s time I heard your expectations.”

      Damen was holding on to his temper by a thread. “I expect my wife not to harass me.”

      She laughed. Out loud. And then she reached up and covered her mouth, her lush, ripe mouth that made him think of all the sinful things he wanted to do to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, and yet her dark eyes glinted, glimmering with fresh amusement. “I’ll try not to laugh—”

      “Not try. Do it.”

      “Right. I’m not to laugh, and I’m not to talk, and I’m just supposed to listen.”

      “About time,” he muttered.

      She crossed one leg over the other and smoothed the navy fabric of her skirt. Her gaze met his and her expression was more sober but a hint of amusement still lurked in the warm brown depths. “I’m ready.”

      He would ignore the bright light in her eyes, just as he’d ignore the flecks of gold that made her eyes so warm and beautiful. Her dark brown hair had the same bits of copper here and there. She reminded him of fire and veins of copper amid granite rock, and her strength coupled with her lush shape made him question everything he knew about women.

      “I am not looking for a best friend, or even a friend,” he said tersely, sounding to his own ears like an unlikable ogre, but it was the truth and he wasn’t ashamed of it. “I am not looking for a partner. I live for my work, and when I need something personally, I reach out to have that need met, but once I have what I need, I am again content being left alone.”

      And then he stopped talking and silence stretched. Kassiani finally gave a short nod, her expression perfectly neutral. How she didn’t look offended by his brusque delivery, he didn’t know.

      Their hot breakfast arrived, eggs with cheese and tomatoes and olives, along with some pan-fried potatoes. They