I’d always assumed I would die a virgin.

Not because I was blind, but mostly because my father had spent years protecting me from practically everything—including men.

Then our company began collapsing, and billionaire Ronan Blackwell offered to save it on one condition.

He wanted me as his wife.

Ronan is six-foot-five, tattooed, terrifyingly handsome and about as affectionate as a locked door. He says my name like an accusation, keeps every conversation painfully brief and somehow makes me feel as though I’ve done something unforgivable without ever telling me what.

Which makes wanting him incredibly inconvenient.

“I thought we were supposed to consummate the marriage.”

Silence stretches between us before his voice drops. “Do you even know what you’re asking for?”

Heat rushes into my face. “I know what sex is.”

A quiet breath leaves him, almost a laugh but without any amusement.

“Knowing what it is and knowing what you can take are two very different things, sweetheart.”

Maybe marrying Ronan Blackwell was a terrible idea, especially because the more time I spend with my husband, the more one question refuses to leave me alone.

Why did a man who seems to hate me choose me in the first place?