He Won’t Let Me Go

Chapter 5: The Wedding

Malachi’s POV

“Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you now?”

For half a second the defiance cracked. Her green eyes went wide with fear. Then it hardened again.

“What?” she challenged, voice low and testing. “Lock me in a tower? Starve me? Make me crawl?”

I chuckled. The sound surprised even me. I released her chin and stepped away, turning my back as if she no longer interested me.

“Look out the window if you want,” I said. “It’s the last free view you’ll have for a while.”

She moved to the glass, arms folded tight across her chest, staring at the dark grounds beyond the mansion lights. I watched her reflection instead of her face. Red hair tumbling down her back, freckles dusting the bridge of her nose, full lips pressed into a stubborn line. The curve of her breasts rose and fell with every angry breath. I had studied photographs for months, but nothing prepared me for the living heat of her this close. She was ravishing.

And she was the woman who had left me under that rubble while my mother died screaming my name.

The excitement that hit me was almost violent. I had never felt anything like it….not when I closed my first deal, not when I crushed a rival company, not even in the darkest corners of the clubs I occasionally visited. This was different. Possession mixed with old hatred, sharp and intoxicating. I wanted to break her. I wanted to keep her. I wanted both at once.

The drive home was silent except for the soft scrape of her bare feet against the floor mats when she shifted. The moment the car stopped I dragged her out by the wrist, ignoring the way she dug her heels into the gravel. The front doors swung open and every member of the staff froze.

Nadia, the head housekeeper, stared as if I’d brought home a wild animal. The footmen, the maids, even the chef hovering in the far corridor….none of them had ever seen me with a woman like this.

“This is Miss Ivy Bellamy,” I said, voice carrying across the marble. “My future wife. And my mistress. She is to be treated accordingly.”

A collective murmur. I felt Ivy stiffen beside me, but I kept my grip.

I ordered a bath drawn, fresh clothes prepared, food brought to the master suite. I stood in the doorway of the adjoining dressing room and watched the female staff move around her. I felt uncomfortable with other people touching my woman.

One of the younger maids reached to unbutton the ruined gown. I felt an irrational spike of jealousy and ordered her out with a single look. Even the females felt too close.

When a male attendant stepped forward with towels, something black and ugly rose in my chest.

“Out,” I said.

He hesitated.

“Now.”

He fled. I turned back to Ivy. She was glaring at me, cheeks flushed, arms crossed over the half-open dress.

“I need to bathe,” she snapped.

“You will. Alone. In my bathroom. And you will sleep in my room.”

“Like hell I will.”

The argument exploded the moment the last maid left. She snatched a heavy crystal glass from the side table and hurled it at my head. I ducked; it shattered against the wall behind me, spraying shards across the carpet.

I was on her in two strides. Gentle, but firm. I caught both her wrists, pinned them above her head against the wall, and used my free hand to tilt her face up by the jaw, fingers resting lightly along the side of her throat. Not squeezing. Just holding. Letting her feel the strength I could use if I chose.

“Careful,” I murmured. “Throw something heavier next time and I might stop being polite.”

Her pulse hammered under my thumb. She glared up at me, furious, breathing hard.

I smirked letting my lips get in contact with her cool skin. I kissed her cheek, then moved her neck and sucked it.

“Ngh!”she moaned.

“Wow sensitive,” I teased.

She said nothing, my other hand moved to grip her breasts. They were firm and soft. She flinched and I heard her stifle a moan.

My knee rose to between her legs. She trembled . I was loving teasing her. Another part of my body was slowly hardening.

I brought my head up. Her eyes were hazy with lust. So she didn’t hate this after all.

Her eyes dropped to my mouth. Color flooded her cheeks. She leaned in, just a fraction, lips parting as if she might close the distance herself.

I laughed, soft and dark, refusing the kiss and leaned back from her.

The sound snapped her out of it. Mortification flooded her face. She wrenched sideways, shoving at my chest, and fled into the bathroom, slamming the door so hard the mirror rattled.

I stood there a long moment, still tasting the near-miss of her mouth, still feeling the heat of her body against mine. The hatred was intact. The need was new. And both were growing.

*******

It was my wedding day. Two days had passed since I had dragged her home.

I watched her walk toward me down the private chapel aisle of the estate.

The dress was simple ivory silk, chosen because anything more elaborate would have looked like surrender. It clung to every curve. The freckles across her shoulders were visible through the thin straps. Her red hair was half-pinned, half-loose, and those green eyes burned with pure refusal even as she placed her hand in mine before the priest.

She was more beautiful than I had allowed myself to expect.

The priest began the ancient words. Outside, rain tapped against the stained glass. Inside, the air felt charged, waiting.

I had almost started to believe the day would pass without interruption.

Then the heavy double doors at the rear of the chapel slammed open hard enough to crack the wood.

Two figures strode in, rain still glittering on their shoulders, completely out of dress code. One in black tailored trousers and an open white shirt already damp from the weather. The other in a matching dark ensemble that somehow looked more dangerous than formal. Identical dark hair, the same sharp bone structure, the same cold, serpent-like eyes that missed nothing and promised nothing good.

Adrian and Celeste.

My illegitimate twin siblings. And my greatest enemies

They stopped halfway down the aisle, twin smiles spreading across their faces like oil on water.

“Brother,” Adrian drawled, voice carrying easily over the shocked silence. “Did you really think you could get married without inviting family?”

Celeste’s gaze slid over Ivy, lingering, assessing, dangerous. “How rude. We came all this way.”

I felt the old, familiar tension coil low in my spine. These two never arrived without purpose. And purpose, where they were concerned, always meant trouble.

Ivy’s fingers tightened in mine. The priest had gone pale. Every guest in the chapel held their breath.

Adrian’s serpent eyes locked on mine, smile widening.

“We have so much to discuss,” he said softly. “Especially about the bride.”