I suspected my husband was a detached ascetic.

Every night, he'd skip to the backyard, muttering prayers under the stars instead of sharing our bed. When I slipped into something slinky, he'd frown and clutch his prayer beads like a lifeline.

Now I was done with the cold shoulder, slapping a divorce agreement in his hands.

That was when his thoughts started leaking into my head. "She touched me. Her hands are like silk. I'm dying to kiss her. When is she gonna be okay with me being a snake? I just want to cuddle her."

"A snake?" I thought. "Does that mean he's packing two things? I have to find out."

I leered at his chiseled frame, practically drooling. Before divorcing, I needed to test his things and my limits.

I tripped purposefully and fell onto his toned pecs, ready to test the waters.

"Whoops!" I gasped, setting the stage.

"You okay?" Charles Hatcher caught me swiftly, gently lifting me and nudging my hand off his chest.

His inner voice echoed in my head again. "Touched her again! She's like a warm, fluffy cupcake. I want to devour her. Another day craving her, but what if I scare her off? That sleazy coworker of hers is up to no good, asking her to drink. How do I warn her to stay away without sounding like a jealous creep?"

My cheeks burned with guilt. I snatched back the divorce agreement, tucking it back into my bag, but my eyes snagged on the faint outline of his abs through his shirt.

"I'm fine," I mumbled.

Charles nodded, tugging his shirt closed.

Those words I'd heard came from him, but his mouth hadn't budged. I was baffled, not understanding what was going on.

He turned, toweling his damp hair, and disappeared into his study. The spark of courage I'd mustered fizzled like a wet firecracker.

I hadn't even done anything, and he was already pulling away. It surely felt like he was repulsed by me.

But then, the same voice crept back into my mind, low and sultry. "She is so cute. I'm gonna lose it if she keeps this up. Better hit the scriptures to cool off. Wanna wrap her up in my arms and do all kinds of things."

I chugged a glass of ice water, my throat tight at his nasty thoughts.

After what felt like forever, he emerged. "There's a company gala tonight. Let's go together."

"Nah, I'll pass," I said, waving him off.

A gala sounded dull compared to a night out on my own.

He slid onto the couch beside me, his gaze locking onto mine. "Companions are required for this event. Come with me, please."

His voice was soft, almost pleading, but his thoughts roared in my head. "She doesn't wanna go with me. Is it because of that guy? No way. I'm keeping her glued to my side tonight. She's not sneaking off with anyone. Why hasn't she agreed yet? Should I just scoop her up and drag her there?"

I shot to my feet, swallowing hard. "Fine, I'll go."

His face softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "She's the best. When is she gonna run her hands over me?"

I'd never paid much attention to his expressions before, but now, staring at his chiseled jawline and those piercing eyes, I couldn't help myself. My hand moved before my brain caught up, brushing against his abs.

He let out a groan, his hand snapping over mine. His eyes glistened. "What are you doing?"

I looked away, flustered. "I'm your wife. Can't I touch you?"

This wasn't what I expected. Just now, his mind was screaming for my touch.

That voice came again. "She touched my abs. If she'd just keep going, maybe slide a little lower... She's okay with me now, right? A kiss would seal the deal."

I stole a glance at Charles, who looked maddeningly composed. But then, he dipped his head and started unbuttoning his shirt.

"Go ahead," he said. "Touch whatever you want. I'm all yours."

My nose nearly bled right there. No one could resist a view like that.

Two years ago, when the Hatcher family sought a bride from another prominent clan, I saw Charles's photo and knew I had to have him.

I got the ring, the wedding, but not intimacy. In a year and a half, we'd barely kissed or held hands. Every time we accidentally brushed against each other, he'd jerk back like I'd zapped him with a cattle prod.

I could have handled a platonic marriage. Having a gorgeous guy in the house, even just to admire, wasn't a bad deal, but rumors about him kept hitting the headlines.

[Shocking! CEO Hatcher's Midnight Fling with His Secretary!]

[Hatcher Spotted with an Escort, 300 Rounds in One Night. Photos Don't Lie.]

No wonder he kept his hands off me. Maybe he was getting his kicks elsewhere.

I'd started thinking this marriage was a lost cause, but something didn't add up. He always looked so shy, the chance of his cheating close to zero.

Maybe I didn't need to rush into a divorce. A man this fine, untasted, would be a waste, and those headlines were probably nonsense.

Charles held my wrist, his eyes dark with restrained lust. "Had enough?"

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, looking unfairly sexy. "You've been at it for a while now. I'm not like those guys you'd find out there."

I gave his abs one last squeeze before letting go. "I haven't touched any other guys."

The gloom in his eyes vanished, but then his brow furrowed. "Yeah, sure. If you're into this, just say so. You've got the whole package at home."

His gaze was intense, like he was trying to pull me in. His bluntness made my cheeks burn, even with my thick skin.

"You don't like me touching you, do you?" I protested. "Men are so fickle."

He buttoned his shirt up to his throat, but that voice came again. "Fickle? Me? I've been dying for her to get close this whole time. Does she really not want me?"

Charles's thoughts played in my mind. "Other guys better than me? No way! They are hitting on her."

He suited up and went to work.

I blinked, not knowing where he had got that idea. I wasn't meeting anyone.

Nevertheless, I had to swing by the company and stake my claim. I couldn't let the media keep spinning lies about my man.

More importantly, I had to confirm if he really liked me, as his thoughts suggested.

I grabbed a random file from my desk, muttered something about needing to discuss investments, and headed to the wardrobe to select clothes.

My mom called, asking, "Sweetheart, you're going to that gala with Charles, right?"

"Yeah." I nodded absently, choosing a hip-hugging skirt.

"Keep it discreet if you're playing around," she teased.

I nearly dropped the phone. My reputation was going down in flames.

"Mom, I'm innocent."

"Fine, fine. I'm heading there, too. Catch you later."

I rarely visited Charles's office and wondered how he'd react. As my car pulled up to the building, his inner voice returned, suggesting that Charles was nearby.

"Miss her so much. When is this day gonna end? This intern assistant is a total klutz, spilling coffee all over me and trying to strip my shirt off. What a pervert!"

"What? Someone made a move on my man?" I stormed through the glass doors, flashing a quick smile at the receptionist, and charged toward the CEO's private elevator.

I strode to his office, but his assistant popped up in front of me, his face tight with nerves. "Mrs. Hatcher? What brings you here at this hour?"

I narrowed my eyes. "I'm here for Charles. Is he in his office?"

"Uh, Mr. Hatcher is tied up in a meeting. You'll need to wait a bit," William Turner replied, darting a guilty glance back at the office door.

"I'll wait inside," I said, brushing past him.

"How about the lounge? Mr. Hatcher is still..." he tried again.

Before he could finish, a sultry voice floated out of the office. "Mr. Hatcher, why don't you take that shirt off? I'll take it home and wash it for you."