"Is this really necessary? You looked like you were about to murder the evaluator. Are you crazy?"
I chuckled low, feeling the warmth of her presence and the adrenaline still lingering in my veins.
"All I did was ask him to respect my wife, that's all," I said with a casual shrug that did nothing to mask the possessive fire burning through me. I closed the door softly. Nita rolled down the window, her eyes sharp, fierce, beautiful even in reprimand.
"You cannot be rude to him, Richard," she chided. "You have to butter him up. When we get back, you have to apologise…"
Before she could finish, I leaned in and kissed her—deeply, deliberately, a soft press of dominance and apology mixed together. Her words melted against my mouth, her protest dying in a sigh that sent a wave of heat straight down my spine. Every time I touched her, I forgot reason, forgot control. She had this dangerous power over me.
