57

LORENA

He was on his feet and hovering over me in my next breath.

Before I got a chance to process him getting to me so fast, he continued in a calm voice, a storm brewing behind those hazel eyes. “Now, Lorena, We don’t want to be rude to our guests. Be a good wife and say hi.”

“No.”

“Do I need to take you outside and put you across my knees?”

“Fuck. You. Husband.”

His lip tilted up as if my rebellion pleased him. We stood toe to toe, his hard body too close to mine. I could smell this cologne, mixture of citrus and cedar, and feel the heat coming off him. The heat I craved last time I spent in New York.

“We’ll do that later,” he cooed softly, but there was a hard gleam in his eyes.

“You can do that later by yourself.” It was stupid to challenge him, taunt him. But the reasonable part of me disappeared and only my anger, agitation, and need to hurt him were left.

“I want my own room.”