I hate you. Every time her acerbic words needled my mind, they dug a little deeper. I didn’t want to share my life with a woman who hated me. And I certainly didn’t desire Nora’s disgust.

On the night she was assaulted by Alberto, she’d shown remarkable strength and resilience. And she’d never once crumpled and sobbed since I’d kidnapped her and forced her into this marriage. She’d told me that men had beaten her throughout her life, but she still possessed fire in her soul. I’d liked that defiant fire the first time I’d taken her over my knee. I didn’t want to be the one to snuff it out.

I’d been more careful with her than I would like since the reception, sparing her from my darker needs. I liked taking care of my pretty bride, but I didn’t intend to deny my desires for the rest of my life. She would learn to accept them; I would teach her to love my more deviant plans for her.

I just had to woo her outside the bedroom, and she would be more amenable to trusting me to fuck her however I pleased. This could be a happy marriage, if I could just convince my beautiful wife not to hate me.

She watched me warily as I approached her in the library, sinking slightly deeper into her plush armchair and pulling her book protectively up to her chest. Nora didn’t fear me, exactly, but she always tensed when I neared. Particularly now, when I was in a deviant mood. She must’ve been able to read something darker in my demeanor, because she licked her lips in trepidation and desire.

Perfect. My pretty wife was learning to please me, even if she didn’t realize it.

I planned to take another step in her training.

I held out my hand, beckoning. “Come here.”

She was breathtakingly graceful when she unfolded herself from the chair and got to her feet. She truly did have a dancer’s form. I relished the prospect of admiring her at my leisure. I hadn’t wanted to marry, but Nora would be a good companion for me. There were worse fates than having such a striking woman in my bed and at my side.

She looked up at me, curiosity sparking in her hazel eyes despite her attempt to put on the composed mask that I hated. She couldn’t seem to help herself; she always tried to hide behind it, a lifelong mechanism for self-preservation.

I could be patient with her. I loved slowly making her come undone as I tempted and provoked her by turns, until the real woman underneath was panting and moaning in my arms.

“I have a surprise for you,” I told her, watching every nuance of her expression.