Page 40 of Outcast’s Vow

“Let’s just say the US ski team had its eye on me while I was still in high school.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

“Our boarding school had a great ski program.”

“Is that why you brought me here for our honeymoon? To flex?”

“Sure,” he replies. “All part of my scheme to impress you.”

The wine is crisp on my tongue. The expensive liquid warms my throat. My husband’s already taken care of the bill without even allowing me to glance at it.

“And why didn’t you try out for the US ski team?” I question.

“I didn’t want the publicity,” Baptiste says. “I was focused on where I wanted to go in life, and that didn’t include professional sports. And now I can’t afford to spend weeks in some country competing when I have my business to tend to. I prefer making bank to winning gold medals.”

I point my fork at Baptiste.

“You sound like a psychopath.”

He smiles.

“Some people would figure I’d take that as a compliment.”

The dimming sunset draws dark shadows over his angular features. He can turn from the fun-loving goof with a snowball to a cold and calculating robot at the flick of a switch.

“Yeah. I’d have to agree with those people,” I say. “You’re like a villain in a spy movie.”

Baptiste finishes the rest of his wine looking pleased with himself.

“I’m the villain who shot the hero and won the damsel,” he replies.

“And what do you intend to do with your conquest?” I ask temptingly.

Baptiste’s eyes are laced with the same lust I witnessed in the caverns under the Castaways mansion after our wedding.

“We’ll just have to see.”

After dinner, we are driven by the chauffeur back to the chalet. We have another glass of wine in front of the crackling fire before I start to yawn.

“Time for bed,” I announce, unsure of what happens next.

My husband regards me for a moment.

“Time for me as well,” he says.

“I’ll head to the guest room,” I tell him, standing up from the couch.

“The guest room?”

Should I test him? See his restraint in action?

“Yes. The guest room.”

Baptiste comes to his feet, towering over me. Blocking my way.

“You’ll sleep in my bed,” he rumbles. “We’re married now.”

I look him dead in the eye. And it’s clear my little test hasn’t worked the way I wanted it to.