AUTHOR'S P.O.V
He stared at her sleeping form with conflicting emotions.
She looked so peaceful as she slept. He wanted to touch her but he couldn't. He should put her to bed but if he touched her...
It'd been one long, sleepless night. He needed a bath.
He went into the bathroom. As he stood under the cold shower, his mind was restless.
He was always in control. He never made decisions based on his emotions or someone else's feelings. No matter who it was, he was firm in his decisions. He didn't put into account whose feelings he hurt, he didn't care if he offended anyone. As long as the decision he'd made was the right one, he didn't give a shit.
So why in God's name did that not apply to his little mute wife?
Ever since she came into the picture, everything had changed. Just seeing her cry was enough to destroy whatever principles he'd set and believed was right.
Now every decision he took was for her. To see her smile, to see that dimple that rarely appeared unless she was extremely happy.
She was devastatingly beautiful and his.
Fuck! He groaned, feeling a headache forming.
Nobody knew the main reason he wanted to marry Valerie but hell it wasn't because he fucking loved her.
Love was a luxury he didn't need. It was a useless emotion only the weak possessed.
And yet when he saw that emotion he despised in her eyes for him, his dead heart had raced. Yes, he knew she loved him. He'd first seen it in the study room when he'd presented her the painting of her mom but he hadn't understood.
But yesterday... he wanted him to be the only one she looked at with that gaze.
It was selfish of him but he couldn't help it. She was his wife. She belonged to him. He wouldn't be able to love her like she wished but he would always protect her. It was his personal goal.
The only problem was he had vastly underrated the extent of his attraction to her. It made him mad and confused as hell to think that she affected him the way only she could.
The first time he set eyes on her at her mansion, he'd been intrigued. She looked so much like Angélica yet so different.
He wanted her.
As if his mind could sense his desires, it conjured up an image of her standing in the shower in front of him, wearing his shirt the vision similar to their wedding night.
He watched her hair get soaked, the shirt clinging to her curvaceous body. The water did beautiful things to her skin. She smiled up at him, not flirty nor seductive but one of those genuine smiles that had her dimple on display and yet he found it tempting.
His heart lurched as he swallowed. He brought up his hand to touch her but she disappeared.
A groan escaped him as he shut his eyes. Yesternight was a mistake. A beautiful mistake. Now that he'd got a little taste of her, he wanted more. He wanted to hear those captivating sounds she made when he kissed her favourite spots, when he...
For the first time in his life he was afraid. She was fast becoming an addiction and he couldn't allow that but....
Why does picturing her sad face tug at something deep? He couldn't bear it.
He groaned loudly this time. He'd never been this emotionally drained since his father died. Gaining his composure, he turned off the shower and stepped out.
