EIGHT

The car ride home was silent and I stared out the window, not really looking at anything in particular.

Elijah's scent filled up the whole car as he drove. I could feel his gaze on me.

"You've been quiet," he finally said.

"I'm tired." I quickly said.

"You're a terrible liar."

I turned to glare at him. "What do you want me to say? That I'm not thrilled about performing for your family even though I agreed to it. Also what's up with your grandfather asking about babies? Where did that come from??”

He stared at me. "He's old-fashioned, he doesn't mean any harm by it."

"Old-fashioned," I laughed. "The contract said nothing about birthing babies."

"Why do you sound so appalled by the idea of children." He asked.

I scoffed. Was he really asking me that? "I'm not ready for children and even if I wanted to have a child now, it definitely wouldn't be with someone like you."

He put his free hand on his chest. "Ouch."

"My grandfather believes in stability." He said, not looking at me. "The same reason why he thinks I should be married before I turn thirty in order to inherit the company completely."

"And when do you turn thirty?"

"In three months."

I turned back to the window. "And in the meantime, I get to play happy housewife while your grandfather asks when we're giving him babies."

"I'll handle my grandfather. All you need to do is stay by my side and look pretty." He smirked.

I rolled my eyes and remained silent till we got to his home.

The car pulled up to his penthouse, our penthouse now, I guess. Like the gentleman he definitely wasn't, he opens the door for me and I step out into the cool night air.

I glared at him before making my way to the elevator and yes you read correctly, it had an elevator.

The penthouse is huge with about five bedrooms. Of course I'd never share a room with him so I had my own bedroom.

"Breanna." Elijah said as I was making my way upstairs.

I glanced over my shoulder. He'd loosened his tie, the first button of his shirt undone making him look less put-together than usual. "What?"

"You did well tonight."

"Thanks," I responded. "I'm a great actress." I continued to my room. My room was bigger than the entirety of my old apartment. I kid you not.

I sighed as I took a long hot shower. I'd just worn my nightwear when I heard a knock on my door.

"What?" I called out, not bothering to open it.

"We need to talk."

I groaned and pulled open the door. Elijah stood there, still in his dress shirt and slacks, though he'd ditched the tie entirely. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone now, and I could see the column of his throat.

I looked away quickly.

"Can't it wait?”

His eyes flicked down briefly, and I suddenly remembered I was in a tank top and shorts. My pajamas.

I crossed my arms over my chest feeling exposed.

"This'll be quick," he said, though his voice sounded slightly strained. "We'll need to be more... convincing than we were tonight."

"More convincing? Your grandfather seemed completely sold." I raised my eyebrow.

"Not my grandfather. I’m talking about everyone else." He ran a hand through his luscious hair, messing it up. He looked so hot. "We need to look comfortable with each other. Like we've been together longer than a few days."

"And how do you suggest we do that?"

"We need to practice."

I blinked. "Practice what exactly?" What was he talking about?

He stepped into my room without asking permission, and I instinctively stepped back.

"That," he said, gesturing between us. "You can't flinch every time I come near you."

"I don't flinch."

"You tense up every single time." He moved forward again, and I backed up further. "In public, all eyes will be on us, so we need to look more natural, more comfortable."

My back hit the wall.

Shit.

He stopped right in front of me and was close enough that I could smell him.

"What are you doing?" I asked, hating how breathless I sounded.

His fingers brushed against my waist, and every nerve in my body was on fire.

"See?" He murmured. "You react."

"Maybe because you're invading my personal space." I fired back trying to reclaim control. I don't know why I acted a fool in his presence.

"We're married, so we don't have personal space anymore." His grip on my waist hardened and I would feel his warm palm through the thin fabric of my tank top. "At the gala, I'll have to touch you like this. Probably more. Dance with you. Maybe even kiss you if the moment calls for it."

My stomach did a flip at the word 'kiss.'

"Can you handle that without looking like you want to run?" he continued.

I forced myself to meet his eyes, trying to ignore the way my heart was racing. "I can handle anything you throw at me."

He traced small circles on my side and even though it was such a small movement. I felt it everywhere.

"Elijah..." It whispered.

"What?" His voice was rougher now. "I'm just making sure you're comfortable. That you can handle being this close to me."

"I'm fine," I lied.

"Are you?" His other hand came up, bracing against the wall beside my head, trapping me. "Because you're breathing pretty hard right now."

Fuck. He was right.

I was aware of everything about him right now. The heat radiating from his body, the way his shirt stretched across his chest, the look in his eyes.

"That's because you're being creepy," I said, trying to sound unaffected. "Cornering me against a wall in my own room."

"You could push me away anytime you want." His eyes dropped to my lips for just a second before meeting mine again. "But you haven't."

My hands were pressed flat against the wall behind me, but I could easily push him away.

"This is ridiculous," I said, though I didn't sound like I meant it. "We don't need to practice... whatever this is."

"No?" He moved closer and I became aware of just how little space was between our bodies. "You sure about that?"

His hand slid from my waist to my lower back, pulling me closer.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured.

I should remind him of the boundaries we'd put in place but I couldn't say anything.

Instead, I found myself saying, "What if I don't want you to?"

His eyes darkened, and something shifted in his expression.

He leaned in, his lips barely an inch from mine, and—