The Fixer's Secret: Taming My Husband

His grip was iron. It wasn't the tentative hold of a lover; it was the shackle of a warden. Julian didn't pull her; he towed her.

Leo scrambled up from the wreckage of the bar cart, glass crunching under his boots. Hey! You can't just-

Julian's personal security detail materialized from the shadows, two large men stepping in front of Leo like a human wall. They didn't speak. They didn't have to. Leo stopped, looking at Victoria with helpless apology in his eyes.

Victoria didn't look back. She was too busy trying to keep her footing as Julian dragged her toward the private VIP lounge at the back of the room.

Julian! Elena's voice was shrill. Where are you going?

Julian didn't break stride. Go home, Elena.

But-

I said go home! he roared, not turning around.

He kicked the door of the private lounge open. It banged against the wall with a violence that made Victoria jump. He shoved her inside.

She stumbled, her hip checking the edge of a leather sofa. One of her damp heels slipped off, leaving her half-barefoot on the Persian rug.

Julian slammed the door and threw the deadbolt. The click echoed in the small, soundproofed room like a gunshot.

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. The air conditioner hummed, but the room felt hot.

Julian turned to face her. His chest was heaving. He ripped his tie off and threw it on the floor.

You want a show? he asked, his voice low and dangerous. You want to parade your boy toys in front of my business partners?

Victoria kicked off her other shoe. She stood taller, despite the height difference. He was my guest. Unlike your... assistant.

Julian closed the distance between them in two strides. He grabbed her upper arms, his fingers digging into the wet trench coat.

Do not compare her to you, he spat. She is loyal. You are a leech.

Victoria laughed. It was a bitter, jagged sound. Loyal? She's a parrot, Julian. She repeats whatever she thinks you want to hear. She dresses like a ghost to keep you happy.

Julian froze. His hands tightened painfully. Don't you dare talk about Seraphina.

I didn't say her name, Victoria whispered. You did.

The truth hung there, vibrating between them.

Julian's eyes darkened. The gray turned to black. He pushed her backward. Victoria's knees hit the sofa, and she fell onto the cushions.

Before she could scramble up, Julian was over her. He planted his hands on either side of her head, caging her in. He leaned down, his face inches from hers.

You think you're so smart, he said. You think because you have my mother's ear, you own me?

I own half your assets if you file for divorce without cause, Victoria shot back. That's the prenup.

Money, Julian sneered. Always money with you.

He looked at her lips. His gaze dropped to her throat, then lower, to where the wet silk of her dress clung to her chest.

Victoria saw the shift. She saw the anger bleed into something else. Something darker. Something hungry.

She smelled him. Beneath the whiskey and the anger, there was the scent of him-sandalwood and rain. It made her stomach flip.

Julian lowered his head. His nose brushed against her neck. He inhaled sharply.

You smell like him, he growled. That cheap cologne.

I wouldn't have to seek company if my husband wasn't busy playing house with his secretary, Victoria said, her voice trembling.

Julian pulled back slightly. His eyes searched hers. You're jealous.

I'm disgusted, Victoria corrected.

The word snapped something inside him.

He crashed his mouth onto hers.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a collision. It was teeth and anger and frustration. He bit her lower lip, hard enough to taste copper.

Victoria gasped, and he used the opening to deepen the kiss. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming it, branding it. His hand moved from the sofa to her hair, tangling in the wet strands, tilting her head back to give him better access.

For a second, Victoria froze. Her body betrayed her. Her pulse skyrocketed. She felt a jolt of electricity zip down her spine.

She raised her hands to push him away, but instead, her fingers curled into his shirt. She pulled him closer.

Julian groaned, a low sound in his throat. He pressed his hips against hers, the friction sending a shockwave through her.

Then he stopped.

He froze.

He pulled back as if he had been burned. He stared down at her, his lips red and swollen, his breathing ragged.

He looked at her, but he wasn't seeing her. His eyes were glazed, looking at something in the past. Or someone.

Seraphina.

He scrambled off her. He backed away until he hit the opposite wall. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a look of utter revulsion crossing his face.

Get up, he rasped.

Victoria lay there for a second, her chest heaving, her lips throbbing. She felt exposed. Raw.

Julian turned his back to her. He braced his hands against the wall, his head hanging low.

Cover yourself, he said. You look pathetic.

Victoria sat up. She pulled the edges of her trench coat together. Her hands were shaking so bad she couldn't button it.

We have to go, she said. Her voice sounded foreign to her ears. Eleanor is waiting.

Julian punched the wall. The drywall cracked.

Get in the car, he said without turning around. I'll be there in a minute.

Victoria grabbed her shoes. She walked to the door barefoot. She paused with her hand on the lock.

She looked at his back. The tension in his shoulders.

You can wipe your mouth all you want, Julian, she said softly. But you kissed me back.

She unlocked the door and walked out, leaving him alone with the ghosts.