Page 94 of To Tango, with Desire

The energy in the air shifted. I was floored by Amira’s sincerity. And even though it made me uncomfortable to talk about this shit, something deep inside of me settled. It was like an unraveling, but in a good way.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I bet it felt good to rub it in her face.”

I shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

Amira placed her can of coke on the coffee table. “Hold on, are you telling me you haven’t seen Chloe since she cheated on you?”

“I’ve seen her plenty of times at some event or other. But once I’d found out what she’d done, it was over. I refused to listen to her half-hearted excuses at the time. So I cut her out of my life. Ever since then I made sure that I was polite at social events, but I’ve only spoken a handful of words to her in the past ten years, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Amira absorbed the information. “I suppose it made things easier, not having a long, drawn-out separation.”

“Less complicated, yes.” I shifted to face her, trying my best not to focus on the redness of her lips or the way her nipples pressed against her blue tank top. I wanted to nudge her back on the sofa, gently peel back the material, and . . . Fuck. I wanted her in a way that tested my self-control. A control that had taken decades of hard work and discipline to master. With just a look from this woman, I could feel it beginning to come undone.

I wanted her. I never seemed to stop.

“I’m curious, since we’re sharing about our past, have you had sex with anyone since that night we first slept together?”

I could tell she was surprised by the question.

She fidgeted with her wedding ring. “Would it make any difference if I did?”

“No.” I wasn’t archaic in my beliefs. A woman had every right to enjoy a healthy sex life, to have as many partners as she pleased. But Amira was also my wife. And God help me, the thought of another man touching her made me furious. Envious. “You could’ve slept with a hundred different men or women in my absence, and it wouldn’t change anything between us.”

“Really?”

“What happened while we weren’t together is none of my business. But still, I’m curious to know.” Her hesitation made me nervous. She’d asked for honesty in this relationship, and even though it made me uncomfortable to open up, it was dawning on me that I wanted more from this marriage than I initially had planned. I didn’t want Amira to just be a companion. I wanted her as my wife in all senses of the word. Which meant letting this woman in, revealing parts of myself I’d kept hidden for so long. And it was terrifying as fuck. “For the record, there was no one else.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’ve slept with nobody else since you.”

“You mean, you and Kiki weren’t . . .” She looked at me pointedly.

“Only. You.”

She took a moment to process it. “I’m surprised by that.”

“I can tell. But it’s the truth.”

Shifting, she curled her legs up beneath her, then toyed with the pillow at her side. “Given you’ve shared with me, I suppose it’s only right I do the same.” I braced myself for the truth, knowing that it didn’t matter either way. “I dated. Met guys in pubs, got set up by friends. Some men got second dates, and some I kissed. But we never—I never felt—they weren’t—”

“Me?”

Her sweet blush was proof enough.

Fierce possessiveness caught me in a chokehold. I was speechless. I shouldn’t feel so damn smug, but I couldn’t help it. I felt like a king. An emperor. I was the only person she’d slept with. I was the only man to have given her pleasure, to have touched her intimately.

Me.

Beside this feeling of pure male ego sat something else. Something startling and deep . . . a feeling I didn’t dare acknowledge.

“Don’t look so damn happy about it.”

I stretched out, flexing my bicep. “Couldn’t get it as good as this, huh?”

Amira rolled her eyes but giggled. And the sound was sweeter, more potent than anything else. Because beneath it all, what mattered more than the fact that I was her only lover, was this. Had I expected such a connection when I’d proposed? Had I even wanted it? Lounging on the couch, eating pizza, and talking about real shit felt good.

Ever since we’d gotten engaged, it had seemed like she’d had one foot out the door. It was my fault, forcing her hand, but I didn’t regret it. I would do it again in a heartbeat. But now things were changing. Or maybe I was changing.