His six-foot-something frame fills the doorway, his dark reddish brown hair slightly mussed like he’s run his hands through it a million times today. His square jawline is shadowed with stubble, his piercing green eyes set on me.
He’s leaning against the doorframe, thick arms folded, showing off the muscle and definition in them.
My mind goes right back to last night. Thoughts of how those arms had flipped me over in bed like I weighed nothing fill my head. How those large hands and long fingers had touched me everywhere, gripping me so roughly but in a way that made me shudder and whimper for more…
“Evening, princess,” he says, cocking a brow. His gaze has traveled from me to the makeshift bed I’ve created. “Looks like you’re settling in. But it seems you’ve got the wrong room.”
I straighten up, crossing my arms to mirror his posture. “I’m right where I want to be. If I’m forced to sleep under this roof then this is where I’ll do it.”
“You don’t decide where you sleep. I do.” He pushes off the doorframe, taking a step into the room, his gait smooth and effortless. Naturally masculine. “And your place is in my room.In my bed.”
“My place?” I give my loudest, most condescending laugh. “I don’t have aplace, Callahan. I’m not one of your little foot soldiers you can order around.”
The corner of his mouth curves, his green eyes gleaming. “Never a soldier, princess. You’re my wife. Which is a much more…intimateposition.”
Heat flashes through me, warming my skin all over.
It’s anger, I tell myself. Just anger.
And yet as I meet his gaze, my thoughts refuse to move on from last night. Ourexplosivewedding night. I stammer out my next response.
“I didn’t agree to share a bed with you every night.”
“Actually, you did.” He takes another step closer. “When you said I do in front of two hundred people and God himself.”
I scoff and turn my back on him, fluffing the pillow with more force than necessary. “That was a business transaction. The deal our families made. This is my personal space.”
“No such thing. Not between a husband and wife. Not in this family.”
“Well, I’m not like the other Callahan wives,” I snap, spinning back around to face him. “I won’t be some docile little housewife who jumps when you snap your fingers.”
“You’re right, princess. You damn sure seem much more entertaining.”
“This isn’t a game.”
“Isn’t it?” He tilts his head, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s already solved. “You’re testing boundaries. Seeing how far you can push. I get it, princess. You’re used to being in control of your life.”
“I am still in control.”
He laughs, the thick and cocky sound making my blood boil. “You’re in my house. Living under my roof. Wearing my ring.” His gaze drops to my left hand where the emerald and diamond band shines from my ring finger. “Pretend all you want, but we both know the truth. You’remine.”
“I belong to myself,” I hiss.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
He moves then, faster than I expect, and suddenly his arms are snapping out and his hands are on my waist.
“What are you—don’t you dare?—”
But he does.
Ronan scoops me up and tosses me over his shoulder in one quick motion.
As easily as you’d pick up a backpack or bookbag.
Except I’m a full grown woman he’s just handled like nothing, throwing me over his shoulder like he’s prepared to carry me around.
I scream, pounding my fists against his back. “Put me down! Ronan, I swear to God?—”