"I don’t know you!" She blurted.
"You can correct that too."
"I don’t want to!" Naomi folded her arms.
Dorian’s gaze dipped briefly to her breasts before returning to her face. "What’s so terrible about staying married to me?"
"Because I already have a fiancé!" Naomi snapped.
Dorian went completely still. "Excuse me, what?"
"You heard me!"
"That was not in the report."
Naomi gave him a pointed look. "Well, looks like Adrian is not as efficient as you claim he is now, is he?" She stabbed a piece of pancake with her fork and shoved it into her mouth with commitment.
Then she chewed and immediately regretted every decision that had led her to this table.
Dear God.
She nearly gagged. What was that?
Salt?
Baking powder?
Concrete mix?
Naomi forced herself to swallow because, despite everything, spitting food back onto a plate in front of someone felt rude.
Even if that someone had broken into her morning, and apparently poisoned breakfast. She took a quick sip of coffee.
At least he had gotten one thing right.
Dorian was still staring at her. "A fiancé."
"Yes."
"You are engaged."
"Yes."
His jaw tightened. For some reason, that irritated her. What right did he have to look offended? He was the one refusing to divorce her. "Does he know you are married?"
Naomi’s fingers tightened around the fork. "No."
Dorian’s eyes narrowed. "And you were planning to tell him when?"
"I was planning to get divorced before it became an issue."
"You publicly demanded a divorce in front of reporters."
"Yes. Thank you. I remember."
"So I would say it has become an issue. Look, Naomi... I cannot have a divorce."
"Looks like we have a problem then. Because I cannot stay married to you."
Then Dorian asked, "How much?"
Naomi frowned. "How much what?"
"How much will make you stay married to me?"
"Must be nice to have money, uhn?"
"It has its privileges."
"You must not have much then, since three women refused to stay married to you."
Naomi’s stomach twisted. That was mean. She knew it.
Cruel, even.
And hypocritical.
Painfully hypocritical.
Because the entire existence of her fiancé was built around money. She needed him because he had offered to clear most of her debts.
That was the ugly truth. She was mocking Dorian for trying to buy six months of marriage while she had already agreed to marry another man for financial survival.
The difference was that Dorian did not know that. And she needed to keep it that way. Richard’s warning echoed in her head.
If you tell him anything about our family affairs, I will bury you.
"Six months. That is all I’m asking. Six months," he repeated. "I will give you whatever you want. At the end of six months, I will even put you on a monthly payroll. Stay married to me long enough for this media frenzy to die down. You would not have to do much. You would keep your life. I keep mine."
Naomi pushed back from the table slightly. "You don’t understand."
"Then explain it."
Dorian watched the wall go up behind her eyes. "Why can’t you give me six months?"
She looked away. Because in one week, Richard might destroy what little life she had left. Because six months was not a little time when every day already felt borrowed. "I don’t have six months. I cannot afford six months."
"Are you in love with this fiancé?" Dorian asked.
"What?"
Dorian untied the apron and pulled it off. Naomi watched him toss it onto the counter. Something about the simple movement made her oddly nervous.
Maybe it was the rolled sleeves. Maybe it was the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders when he moved. Maybe she simply needed to stop observing this man’s body.
Dorian walked around the kitchen island. He stopped directly in front of her. "Do you love him?"
Naomi’s brows pulled together. "What does that have to do with anything? The point is, I am getting married. And without this divorce, I cannot." Her nerves started crawling. "In case you do not know, bigamy is illegal. I could go to jail. I am not going to go to jail for you. I don’t even know you. Well, technically I know you, obviously, because we slept together and apparently got married, but that does not count as knowing someone. I don’t know your birthday. Or your favorite food."
"And you don’t know anything about me either. Except apparently how I drink my coffee, which is creepy, by the way. Very creepy."
Dorian finally realized it. She talked when she was nervous. She jumped from one thought to another so quickly that following her required actual concentration.
The more uncomfortable she became, the faster the words came.
"So, no," she continued. "I am not risking prison just because you have some strange phobia of being divorced a fourth time. Which, by the way, maybe you should have considered before getting married four times."
And then it happened again.
That pull.
The same one he remembered from Vegas. The irrational, overwhelming urge to shut her up. Her mouth moved quickly.
Her expressions changed with every sentence, playing across her face without the slightest ability to hide.
And those lips. Dorian’s gaze dropped. Naomi was still talking.
"I’m just saying there has to be another way to deal with your reputation that doesn’t involve holding me hostage in a marriage I don’t—"
His hand came up, fingers settling lightly beneath her jaw. Then his mouth covered hers. Dorian kissed her slowly at first.
Then her lips softened beneath his. That was all the invitation his self-control apparently needed. His other hand settled at her waist.
Naomi inhaled sharply against his mouth. Heat rushed through her so fast it was humiliating. She knew this.
His mouth.
His taste.
The way he kissed like everything else about him, completely convinced he would get what he wanted.
And God help her, her body remembered him too. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt. Dorian deepened the kiss.
God.
No wonder he married her. She tasted delicious. He remembered kissing her against a hotel door.
Her head tilted, mouth opening beneath his. Dorian made a low sound in his throat.
Thirty seconds.
That was roughly how long it took for Naomi’s soul to return to her body. She jerked away. Her stool scraped loudly across the floor as she scrambled backward.
Her lips tingled. "I... you..." She pointed at him. "Stop kissing me!"