Til Debt Do Us Part (Married At Midnight #4)

Chapter 8

Eight

Dare

I t takes everything in me to drive Talia back to our loft and carry her upstairs without turning around and going back to the estate. The fact that my brother thinks that he has the right to touch my fucking wife makes me sick with a frenzied kind of anger.

I am poisoned with fury, unable to think straight. I can’t stop myself from picturing just how amazing it will feel when I grab Burn by the collar and put my hands around his throat, staring into his eyes as I choke the life out of him.

But I can’t do that just now. No, now I have to carry Talia through the loft, not stopping until I manage to deposit her in our bed. She is still shaky and watching me with wide eyes. As if she doesn’t quite trust me, but I am better than the alternatives.

“You didn’t have to carry me all this way,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. She shrugs her long red mane out of her face and purses her lips, her eyes still scanning my face. “I could’ve walked.”

I look up at her, my blood still pumping hot through my veins. Talia struggles out of her jacket and I lean in, cupping her jaw.

Something has changed. Something has shifted inside me.

Something that was triggered by her words. I need you, Dare.

I’ve never been needed before, never been relied upon. The responsibility of being Talia’s husband is all striking at once, enormous and sudden and sucking the breath right out of my lungs.

I need you, Dare. It’s like she found the secret words to activate my soul.

I bend and brush my lips against Talia's, my fingers tightening on her face.

“I will kill him,” I utter. “For laying a hand on you, Burn assured his own death.”

Talia winces and reaches up a hand, delicately threading it through my hair. She hesitates for a moment before answering.

“You can’t kill Burn. What he did was unthinkable and unforgivable. But he doesn’t deserve to die for it. He is a bastard, no question about it. But I don’t think you killing him and then ending up in jail is going to help anyone. Not me, not the entire Morgan family.”

“It doesn’t matter. Burn has a history of touching things that don’t belong to him. First Daisy. Now he tried to take you from me. I won’t just stand by like a helpless fool and let him steal my wife.”

Talia frowns a little. “Dare, you’ve already won that battle. We are married. I’m your wife. One of the reasons that I married you was because I think that Burn is a cheater that cannot be trusted. You said so yourself.”

“Burn knows that you are mine,” I growl. “ Mine . He knows that you are my wife. I think he delights in the idea that he can take any woman that I have and steal her away with enough charm, money, or force.”

I see her quick inhale of breath. “I know you don’t want to lose me to Burn. I know that you two have a complicated history and he has burned you in the past. But that’s not taking me into account at all.” She takes my hand, lacing her fingers through it and bringing it to her chest. She looks at me intently. “I have agency. I have the ability to make choices for myself. I am telling you right now… I have no interest in running to Burn’s arms. The only way that you can lose me is by being dishonest with me and not respecting me. You don’t have to worry about competition from your brother. Especially not now, after he assaulted me. If I leave, it won’t be because Burn charmed me. Do you understand?”

My heart hammers against the wall of my chest. I hear what she is saying, but her words don’t fully sink in.

Still, I agree without really thinking. “I understand. That doesn’t make me want to kill Burn any less, though.”

Talia smiles and puts her hand against my cheek briefly. “Just remember the inheritance battle. I doubt that Remy will award you the company for killing your own brother. Even your family seems a little too uncouth for that.”

She pushes me away with gentle hands and moves to the edge of the bed, finally standing up.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

She moves over to the closet, passing me a sideways glance as she goes. “Changing. There is a pair of silk drawstring pants in here and an oversized cashmere cardigan that are really calling my name. Unless you have other plans, I was going to try to close my eyes for a minute. I think I’m having an adrenaline crash. You don’t mind, do you?”

I squint at her but shrug. “No.” I stand and watch her as she undresses, looking back at me a couple times with a harried expression.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch me?”

She pulls her sweater over her head and I look at her smooth, flawless skin on her back. She’s not wearing a bra at all and while she hurries to put a shirt on, something primal stirs in me.

Lusts perhaps, but something deeper than that. I don’t have a name for the emotion that looking at Talia makes me feel. Possessive, yes. But something more than that, too.

Some emotion that is new, one that flits beneath the surface and sinks too quickly for me to fully examine it.

She seems to have cooled off completely by now. Her shaky hands are gone, her voice is calm and even. I check my watch. “If you’re going to take a nap, I should get caught up with work and touch base with a few people. I don’t want to leave the loft again today. So maybe I will have a private chef come in and cook for us.”

Talia tugs on her shirt and then rubs herself in a white cashmere cardigan. She looks at me, her expression hard to read.

“That would be nice,” she says.

I prowl over to her, slowly putting my hand out and wrapping it around her waist. Drawing her in slowly, I look down at her. Her head falls back, her face bewitchingly beautiful.

For the first time that I can remember, I want to kiss her lips. There is no expectation behind the movement when I brush her lips with my own. Just that odd possessive feeling again. I enjoy the press of her body against mine, the way she inhales sharply just before I kiss her. The feeling of having completed a goal when I look into her eyes.

She is mine. I really do believe her when she says that she isn’t interested in Burn.

I want to deepen the kiss and push her backward to the bed. I want to hear her call my name.

But I don’t. Instead I reluctantly turn her loose. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Her brow furrows in confusion but she just nods. “Okay. I’ll see you for dinner.”

Walking out of the room is hard. Closing the door behind me is nearly impossible. But she needs rest. And I have plenty to do in the meantime.

When Talia finally stumbles out of the bedroom, wiping sleep from her eyes, she finds me in the room that I’ve claimed for my office. I glance up from the paperwork that I have been paging through, jogging the boring balance sheets and looking her up and down. She changed into a loose white cotton dress and kept the oversized white cashmere cardigan on. She crosses her arms and saunters into the room with a curious expression on her face.

“What smells so good?” She asks.

My lips twitch and I stand up, moving around my desk. “I thought that you might like having some Italian food for dinner.”

Her brows knit. “You’re cooking for me?”

I smirk at her and roll my eyes. “I don’t cook. But I do have a number of personal chefs on my payroll that are available at a moment's notice. So you get the best of both worlds: great food and the pleasure of my company.”

She pulls the edges of her cardigan close over her chest, giving me a considering look.

“I’m actually pretty hungry. When will the staff be ready to serve dinner?”

I put an arm out, touching Talia’s hip ever so briefly. She looks at me, her eyes narrowing a minute momentarily. But I only guide her out of the office and toward the kitchen.

“I instructed her to have everything ready to go when you woke up. So now is as good a time as any.”

Talia eyes me as I usher her toward the kitchen, but she doesn’t say anything. We soon emerge from the hallway into the living room and walk around to the kitchen. The staff I’ve brought in have a number of pots and pans full of half finished food on the stovetop and kitchen counter. She turns when she hears us coming, her chef’s coat starched and crisp. She wipes her hands on a kitchen towel as I wrap an arm around Talia.

“Patrice, this is Talia. Talia, this is Chef Patrice.”

Patrice bows her head, a tiny smile blooming on her face. “It’s a pleasure to serve you.” She waves a hand, gesturing to the small dining room just off the kitchen area. “If you’re ready, I can serve you right away.”

“Thank you, Patrice,” Talia says. She grabs my hand and squeezes it, looking at me strangely. I gather that she means that I should also thank the chef.

“Er, yes. Thank you. We’ll be in the dining room.”

Patrice bows and turns toward the kitchen counter. “I’ll be right in with the first course.”

I hurry Talia over to the dining room, my own stomach rumbling. The air is heavy with garlic and I’m interested to see what our private chef has come up with.

After pulling out a chair for Talia, I take the seat immediately to her right. The dining room isn’t large, only really having room for the most basic rectangular table and three chairs. This chef has already set two places, complete with silverware and plates and two full wine glasses of water. Talia looks at the set up, her eyes wide.

“This is pretty nice,” she says.

I slide her a smirk and shrug. “Usually I would have this chef serve wine pairings. But I figured since you can’t drink, it would be a waste.”

Talia starts to respond to that but Chef Patrice sweeps into the dining room, two plates in her hands and a kitchen towel hanging over one arm. She comes around and sets down the plates before us, giving us a light smile.

“The first course is several slices of cantaloupe with a salty sweet ricotta.” She bows. “Please enjoy.”

She leaves us to taste her food. I look over at Talia to gauge her reaction. But she has already picked up a fork and spears her melon, dipping it in the ricotta.

Just before she puts it in her mouth, she makes eye contact with me and blushes. “I’m really starving,” she explains.

Looking her over, I give her a wry smile. “I'm just surprised to see you with a healthy appetite. After what you endured this morning with my brother…” I shrug. “I wasn't sure you would recover. And yet here you are, looking well and eating quite graciously.”

She arches her brow. “I don't think that my hunger has much to do with whether or not your brother assaulted me or not. I think I just forgot to eat last night and now I am starving.”

Talia pops another piece of cantaloupe into her mouth and chews. I purse my lips and taste the melon, finding its pairing with the ricotta pretty mouthwatering.

She fidgets, cleaning her fingers off with her cloth napkin. “I wonder what Burn would have done if you hadn't heard me scream.”

I look up at her, trying to control my emotions. The last thing in the world I want is to let her know how unthinkable the idea is of Talia being brutalized while she was in my care. I push out a silent breath.

“The thing that matters most is that you are okay.” I push my plate away, picking up my water glass and emptying it in a few swallows.

“So… What, then? You're just going to let Burn get away with this, just like everything else in his life?”

Her words are bitter. I want to yell at her, to express the frustration that is simmering inside. But she's already gone through so much today that heaping more on her plate would be incredibly cruel.

“Talia.” I lock gazes with her, reaching across the table and snaring her hand. I speak slowly and quietly, every word as grave as death. “I will deal with Burn. He will absolutely get what is coming to him for daring to touch you. He knew what he was doing and who you belong to. But he did it anyway. So you can rest assured that I will see justice done.”

She drops her gaze and pulls her hand from my grasp. “Okay.”

She says it like she doesn't quite believe me. But I am not really interested in challenging her preconceptions at the moment. The chef appears and clears our plate, reappearing with two handmade pastas, covered with aromatic bolognese sauce and a dusting of parmesan. Before the chef can speak, I raise a hand and thank her. She catches on, backing out of the room without another word. Talia doesn't wait for permission. She grabs her fork and digs in eagerly, twisting up the pappardelle noodles carefully before shoveling a bite into her mouth.

The bite is bigger than she thought it would be and she glances at me apologetically, chewing quickly and holding her hand up to hide the way that her mouth is stuffed full of food. A second later though, she moans. “Oh, my God. This is so good.”

I pick up my fork and twirl a bit of pasta in the tines. “I'm glad that you approve.”

She swallows and then wipes her mouth. “I've never had anything like this before. Is this a popular Italian dish?”

I nod. “Bolognese is an Italian specialty. It is usually made by little old grandmothers with over twenty four hours to cook down the meat and vegetables into the stock.”

Talia nods and then seems to have a displeasing thought. “I see.”

“You see what?”

She shrugs a shoulder and piles another bite onto her fork. “It just occurred to me that our baby won't have a grandmother. That's kind of sad.”

Her statement knocks the wind out of me. I look up at her from my plate, my brows descending in a worried frown. “No, it will not. It will have a million other advantages though. I think it will be just fine.”

She nods slowly, picking at her food now. “Your mom died when you were little?”

To avoid answering the question, I take a big bite of my pasta. I leave her question hanging in the air, taking time to consider how to answer her question.

I swallow and say, “That's right. She passed away when I was ten.”

Talia stares down at her pasta. “What was your mother's name?”

I repress a sigh. “Caroline.”

“If you don't mind me asking, how did she die?”

“Pancreatic cancer. It was really quick. I think I knew about three months before she died that she even had cancer. And the next thing I knew, my father and Remy were telling me that they buried her. Past tense .” I put my fork down, my appetite leaving me. “It was a long time ago though.”

“Where is your mother buried?” Talia asked.

My mouth curves downward. “I think that's enough talk of my mother's death for one day, don't you think?”

Talia glances at me sharply. The look on her face says that she has a dozen more questions. But before she can ask a single one of them, I stand up, my face a carefully blank slate. I throw my napkin on the table and storm out of the room, needing some space.