VANESSA BELMONT
Fiona wore a high-necked white dress with long sleeves, no jewelry except for diamond studs, and understated makeup. The picture of demure perfection—the kind of woman men deemed wife material.
Fiona had been the one to teach me that men didn't want their wives to be the women they lusted after. No, they wanted them safe—safe from other men's gazes, safe from their own passions. A wife had to be chaste, even within marriage, to be worthy of the title. God forbid she ever admit to desire.
In my prior incarnation, I had tried to compete with that perfect-wife persona, which is why my closet looked like a vanilla ice cream factory had exploded.
You know what? I hate vanilla ice cream.
Nathan was mid-sip when he spotted me. The glass never reached his lips. He stared, transfixed, until the people around him followed his gaze. Appreciation flickered across the men's faces. One even clapped Nathan on the shoulder as if to say, Damn, you're lucky.
I made eye contact, raised my glass in a silent toast, and took a slow drink. Then, deliberately, I turned my back on him and sauntered away.
***|***|***|***|***
NATHAN JANG
I watched Vanessa toast me.
Her sultry smile struck me like a lightning bolt.
Jack Hughes clapped me on the shoulder. "Holy shit, Nate. Vanessa looks amazing tonight."
I expected her to join us, but instead, she turned and walked away. The chandelier lights bounced off the silky emerald green of her dress. I watched the swing of her hips, and felt my mouth go dry.
"I didn't realize how sexy she was under all those nun clothes she usually wears," said Jack in an appreciative voice.
That comment got my attention. "Say it again," I warned.
"Sorry, man. I shouldn't have verbalized my inside thoughts."
"Delete your inside thoughts. I don't want you thinking that way about my fiancée."
Fiona pulled on my jacket sleeve. "What's wrong with Vanessa? She seems different."
Different was an understatement. Dazzling. Gorgeous. Mine. Since we'd hammered out the contract for our family marriage six months ago, I hadn't paid much attention to Vanessa.
But I sure as hell was paying attention now.
I handed Fiona the tumbler. "Would you freshen my drink? I need to talk to Vanessa."
"I bet you do," said Jack with a wide grin.
"Shut up."
I left the group and strode in the same direction as my soon-to-be wife. Every single male gaze followed her progress across the ballroom. I watched three of my business acquaintances surround Vanessa. One offered her a glass of wine. She accepted, but didn't drink. Instead she leaned into the conversation, smiling at those arrogant bastards.
I didn't know what the hell was wrong with me. I knew Vanessa was pretty. I also knew that she liked me. Too much, to be honest. I didn't intend our marriage to be in name only. After all, one of our purposes as a couple was to produce heirs. But we weren't in love by any means.
Even so, I hated the looks on those men's faces as they chatted with Vanessa. Love or not, she would be my wife, and no one else would touch her.
"Nate." Fiona's hand wrapped around my forearm. "Here's your drink."
She tried to give it to me, but I shook my head. "Would you mind holding on to it? I'll be right back."
I shook off Fiona's grip and headed toward my fiancée.
***|***|***|***|***
VANESSA BELMONT
"Excuse me." Nathan wrapped his arm around my shoulders. "I'd like to dance with my wife."
Shocked, I looked up at him and saw his tensed jaw. What was he thinking? I leaned in and whispered, "Who's your wife? We're not married yet."
"We'll leave first," said Nathan, clasping my wrist. He pulled me onto the dance floor.
He placed my arms around his neck. Then he grasped my hips. He pulled me close and I felt my pulse jump. I didn't want this attraction that heated my veins and made me feel weak. Argh! Why did I still respond so strongly to this man?
"I don't like the way other men are looking at you."
Are you kidding me, Nathan Jang? "Oh, please. You don't have to pretend."
He yanked me fully against him, and I felt his erection press at the juncture of my thighs. My heart nearly vault out of my throat. "Does this feel like pretend?" he asked.
I looked up at him and saw the anger in his gaze. Why would he be mad? He'd have to care about me to work up that level of fury. No, that was wishful thinking again. What I felt for my fiancé was irrelevant. To him. And now, to myself. As long as I didn't listen to my heart—or my treacherous body—I could survive.
"How long do you want to keep up this farce?" I asked.
"Until everyone here understands that you're mine." I saw a muscle clench in his jaw. "What did those men say to you? You seemed to be enjoying yourself."
If this had been a conversation with Old Vanessa, I would've done everything in my power to placate him. His feelings mattered to me. But now?
"Why do you care? You've got your wild woman. Maybe I'm looking for a wild man."
My answer sparked a reaction I hadn't expected. Nate grabbed my hand and pulled me along, walking quickly until we reached the back exit doors of the ballroom. The next thing I knew, we stood in a darkened hallway.
Nate pressed me against the wall. "We're getting married, Vanessa. As my fiancée, you need to behave."
"What about you? Shouldn't you behave, too? Everyone knows I'm your society wife and Fiona is your white moonlight." I tried to yank my arms out of his grip. He let me go for a split second before securing his arms around my waist.
"I am not having sex with Fiona," he said. "She needs my help to get back on her feet."
"Whatever." I tried to wiggle out of his grasp again, but he wasn't giving an inch. "Let me go, Nathan! I don't want you."
"Liar." He pressed his lips to my neck. My flesh contracted under the heat of his mouth. The light swipes of his tongue made my knees go weak.
"Stop it!"
"No." He nipped my collarbone and I got that whole butterflies-in-my-stomach feeling.
Okay, this was bad.
Also, good…