Page 38 of Desperate Measures

I was feeling a little proprietary. Even if this marriage was mostly a business deal, that didn’t give anyone the right to take a gander at what was mine.

And Michaela was mine.

“Let’s go,” I said to my wife, grabbing her elbow and opening the car door for her.

She blinked her dark eyes at me, bit her bottom lip, and climbed into the seat, scooting over for me.

“Good girl,” I murmured, and got in after her.

“Um, maybe an explanation is in order?”

Michaela turned towards me, and it sounded like there was a question mark hanging on the end.

“An explanation?

“Yeah. For the punch you threw at one of your security detail,” she said, like I was an idiot.

“Oh, that,” I said, leaning over to grab her seatbelt. “Safety first,” I remarked, getting a good look at her for the first time in daylight.

The late November sunlight filtered in through the tinted windows and I was struck by how damn pretty she was.

I’d seen plenty of beautiful women in my day, but Michaela was something else.

“I can do it,” she said, meaning the seatbelt, but I didn’t let go.

“Liam,” she huffed, giving in to my desire to click that buckle in place. “Explain what that was about.”

“It was nothing, Sweetheart. He was just looking where he shouldn’t.”

“Be serious,” she said, rolling her eyes.

I didn’t know what she meant by that, so I shut up and just stared at her.

She had this look like she thought I was kidding. Rolling her midnight eyes, it was almost like she didn’t believe anyone would find anything interesting about her appearance.

Now, I’d had a background check done on my wife the second Maggie had brought the whole idea of marrying her to me. It took a few days for it to be completed, but I had it now. From what I read, she’d had a few boyfriends though nothing too long or too serious.

Which was kind of a shame because that meant there was no one for me to kill. I wasn’t ruling it out, though.

She was well traveled and versed in business and arts. Nothing I didn’t already know.

But what the report didn’t say was the spoiled brat I was expecting was anything but.

She didn’t act like a snotty little rich girl.

In fact, she was more the brutal honesty or nothing type. And that was intriguing.

She had secrets, my wife, and I found myself curious.

There was a certain sadness about her, too.

Like a lack of expectation.

The kind of thing someone developed when they were used to being overlooked, and I couldn’t understand that.

How could a Volkov princess not get enough attention at home?

The woman was smart.