Brooklyn
Chapter 20
I’m so furious that I want to throw something heavy at Luka’s retreating head.
I don’t care that the entire office was staring at us. Probably still is, as I hurry after my husband and follow him back to his executive suite. He’s about to shut the door in my face, but I grab it in one hand, and with more strength than I knew I had, wrench it open.
“What the hell was that back there?” I hiss.
His eyes go wide, and it takes all my will not to punch him in his handsome face.
“What was what?” he asks.
“Your pathetic attempt to keep me in line?”
Luka’s eyes dart down the hallway and he murmurs, “Keep your voice down.”
I don’t let up. “Ah, or maybe it was your way of ensuring you have plausible deniability whenever you’re seen out in public with one of your whores. ‘Hands-on,’ as you put it?”
“Brooklyn, stop.”
“Make me.”
He drags me inside his office and shuts the door, then locks it before pulling the shades. Crossing my arms, I lift my chin and prepare for whatever he might throw my way. I’m beyond caring anymore. He doesn’t just want his cake so he can eat it, too. He wants to roll around in that shit and wear it like a badge of honor.
No way I’m letting him have a pass at being seen publicly with his arms around Monica, or any of her other model friends. “If I have an image to uphold, so do you,” I tell him.
“Is that what you think?” Luka storms over to me and takes my chin in a firm grip.
“Get your hands off me,” I growl, slapping his hand away.
Undeterred, he wraps an arm around my waist and draws me up against his chest. I squeal angrily, shoving against him. But the hard, warm feel of his toned body under my hands sends electric shocks down my arms and straight to my nipples. They perk hard beneath the thin fabric of my billowy blouse. I’m not wearing a bra.
Luka notices immediately. A wolfish grin crosses his face. “You want me to show you just how hands-on I can be, wife? Is that what you want?”
“Fuck off.” I’m still leaning away, but I’m barely struggling now. “You disgust me.”
He actually laughs. “Do I?”
“Yes.” I think of Monica’s arms around him. The way he touched the small of her back as he returned the embrace. How they both lingered a little too long. Rage makes my breath come faster, and I wrench in his grasp.
“I hate you. Let me go!”
“Never,” he says smugly. “You’re mine, Brooklyn. Whether you like it or not.”
I have the urge to lash out and make a total disaster of his office—knocking over lamps and chairs, pulling books off the shelves and art from the walls. My heart is racing and I’m pumped with adrenaline. I’ve turned into the crazy wife, the one who’ll tear this place apart and won’t leave an inch of it recognizable. I’ve never been this person.
But right now, Luka makes me feel like I could be.
I take a deep breath, trying to get myself and my temper back under control.
“You didn’t like my pictures, then?” I taunt. “I thought you’d love how well Mateo stepped into the sex-god role. I’ve never felt a body quite like his. I mean, I’ve felt him up before, but the boy’s been working out. He’s upped his game.”
Luka’s expression goes dark. It fuels me.
Smiling, I embellish further. “Everything about the shoot was hot, to be honest. Very sexual. The photographer said he’d never seen chemistry like that between models before.”
“So, kind of like Monica and me, then?” Luka asks.