The Millionaire's Secret by Susan Stevens, Jasmine Bowen Page A

has gained on her own. But on top of that,” he stood, throwing his napkin over his still full plate. “On top of that, Mother, and this is very simple, so see if you can wrap your head around it. I am bringing her to the ball, because she is my wife. And she has been for 10 years now. Is that a good enough reason?”
    Behati could have heard a pin drop in the room. Her head spun and she thought she might pass out. Slowly, like a robot, she looked around the table at the shocked expressions. Liam had a half smirk on his face, as if he were amused by his brother’s outburst. Evangeline looked like she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her, then and there. Rick turned to Behati, as if she could clear up everything. Keith grinned.
    “Cool. I have a sister in law. Good for you, Adam. What’s for dessert?”
    “Wedding cake,” Adam said, holding out his hand. “Come, wife. Shall we to bed?”
    Behati scraped her chair back in the silence, and reached out to take his outstretched arm. They walked out of the dining room in silence.
    It wasn’t until they were in Adam’s bedroom that either of them spoke.
    “Am I tripping out?” she asked him. “Or did you just do that?”
    He sat on the bed, letting out a long breath. His hands were trembling, and he gripped them together in a fist.
    “It had to be done. I couldn’t take it anymore. I’ve spoken to her numerous times about insulting you. It’s just not becoming.”
    The ballerina shrugged, sitting in a chair across the room.
    “She’s right, though. All the things she calls me are true. I’m common, and a harlot, I’m trashy, I dress like a streetwalker. I know, it doesn’t shock me, I see those things in the mirror. They don’t bother me, Adam. I know who I am.”
    “The names you were called today may be how you define yourself,” he said. “But the name I called you is also part of it. You are my wife, and you will get the respect that title deserves. Perhaps even after it is no longer true.”
    “Right,” she curled her legs up under her, and picked at the chair. “I guess you have to take me to the ball now.”
    He laughed, shakily.
    “I guess there’s no way out of it. Is that going to be a problem?”
    “No,” she said. “I still have a vacation day from rehearsal I can use.”
    “I know it’ll be terribly boring, my dear,” he apologized. “You don’t have to stay the whole time.”
    “It’s alright,” she replied, with a shrug. “I don’t mind.”
    On a whim, she unfolded her legs, and went to sit beside him. Their hands joined, as if by magnetic force, and her face was inches from his.
    Their lovemaking was always swift, and forceful. It was never slow, never passionate and filled with sweet nothings. But as they kissed, she forced herself to slow down, to enjoy the delayed gratification as his hands slowly explored her body, as if for the first time.
    The first time had been in his hotel room, after one too many drinks, and with the knowledge that it was wrong, that it couldn’t be. In Latvia, she was 16 and a legal adult, the age of consent allowing her to love him all she wanted. But she didn’t want to, not then.
    Now, she wanted to take things slow. She wanted it to last all night, his eyes locked on hers and he slid off her dress, and ran his hands over her toned body. The minutes ticked by and turned into hours and they pressed skin on skin, moaned and were lost in ecstasy. She didn’t watch the clock, wondering when she could escape, meet her dealer, find her next stash.
    There had been other men, who she had used for power, for money, for drugs. Other men who she had hinted for gifts, for cash, for anything her heart desired. But as Adam had said, she had never asked for anything with him. Even the marriage had been his idea, whispered gently as she shook with fear about what would happen to her.
    This time, after they were finished, she didn’t run off to her own room, eager to stretch out on her own blankets