She walked into the bedroom, found a silk negligee she had purchased, and quickly put it on. To finish, she donned a robe and then looked at the bed, where the book lay that had filled her head with so many ideas.

Picking it up, she glared at it. “This is all your fault.” She opened the bedside drawer, threw the book inside, and slammed it closed.

She had tried to ignore her curiosity for so long, as well as her attraction toward her husband. In the beginning it had felt easy to do. She had so much animosity inside her, thinking of Mason as attractive was the last thing on her mind. Every opportunity presented to him and even to herself, she could label him a monster or an asshole. Then of course, once the anger started to melt away, she realized he was anything but.

Like on their wedding night. If it had been left to Paul, she had no doubt she wouldn’t be a virgin. He’d have taken her, and there had been plenty of moments since then when he has hinted at what he wanted to do to her. She never told Mason, because it wasn’t about rocking the boat. No, it was about survival.

That was all she was doing—trying to survive. Mason, however, on their wedding night, took care of her. He cut himself, bloodied the sheets, and then when it was all over, he gave her space and even time. Mason didn’t demand her presence the next morning. No one had to look at her after his father displayed the sheets. In a weird way, he’d been a gentleman about it. When it was time to leave, he made sure no one stopped them or got the chance to talk to her.

Over the last two years, he had protected her. He only made her go to certain functions that made it impossible for him to refuse. He never left her side. There were, of course, a few occasions where his father asked her to dance, and he couldn’t refuse. Mason had learned the trick, though, and whenever he saw his father coming, he took her onto the dance floor. She realized that.

He never forced her to go anywhere for her birthday and Christmas. They did only what they had to do. Their first Christmas together, alone, she had been quite content. They both took the time to decorate the tree, and while Mason had been away, she attempted to make the house all festive. Tamsin didn’t know if he would love it or hate it, and Mason had loved it. That Christmas, even though deep in her heart she wanted to hate it, had been one of the best in her life. She had even gone shopping for gifts for Mason. Nothing too special. Just some items of clothing, trinkets, that kind of thing. He’d done the same for her.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she made her way out of her room and straight back to the main corridor, only to find Mason wasn’t there. She found him in his office. He’d poured himself a whiskey and was standing near the empty fireplace. During the winter months, there was often a soft fire glowing. It was summer and any essence of a fire would be way too blistering.

She stepped forward, hitting the door, gaining his attention.

Mason turned to her and for several minutes, neither of them said anything. He’d removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, showcasing the spread of his tattoos. His arms were covered, his chest, and there were some on his back. From what she could see, he liked to get inked.

Closing the distance between them, she watched as he took a sip of his drink.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Nothing. Want a taste?”

Tamsin never drank. Other than a few sips of wine or champagne, she liked to keep a level head. Growing up a Denton, then running away and fighting for her life, she had not relished the toxicity of alcohol.

She took a deep breath and then nodded. Taking the glass from him, she pressed it to her lips and took a sip, wrinkling her nose as it burned on the way down.

“That’s horrible.”

Mason chuckled. “I know.”

“Why do you drink it?”

“I guess I love the burn.” He finished off the drink. “Did you enjoy your dinner?”

“Yes.” She looked at him and nibbled her lip, not sure what was happening. They had agreed to sex, to making babies, or at least to sex.

That blasted book upstairs and its suggestions. And people said reading was a good thing. Tamsin reached out and took his hand, holding it in hers.

At first, she didn’t move. She felt frozen in place. This was the first time she had openly touched him, and all she had done was hold his hand.

What am I doing?

Why am I doing this?

Do I even want this?

So many questions rolled around her head and none of them made any kind of sense.

Tamsin placed a hand on his chest. He was so warm. Even through his shirt, she felt the warmth spreading to her hand.

“Tamsin?”

She tilted her head toward him. There was no rule to say she couldn’t kiss him. She wasn’t bound by any laws to say this couldn’t happen. She had made up every single rule and law when it came to this man. No one was going to stop her. No one was going to grab her, throw her in jail, and lock away the key.

She had set the rules and boundaries, and if she wanted to, providing Mason wanted to as well, she could break them. None of the ties that bound them controlled what they did next. This could happen.

Slowly, she slid her hand up his chest. She released a little gasp as she felt his hand on her hip, holding her tightly.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She had no idea.

“I don’t know,” she answered as honestly as she could. “But, I’d like you to kiss me, and to do so because you want to, and because you’re not afraid.”

Mason chuckled. “I’m not afraid of you, Tamsin.”

“What about … me being a Denton?” She tilted her head to the side and looked at him.

“I don’t give a fuck what your name was before. Last time I checked, Tamsin, you’re a Savonas. You’re no Denton.”

And then, he slammed his lips down on hers.