Page 50 of Vengeful Vows

Mara entering the kitchen to collect the food I have Chef prepare in excess each meal stole my rebuttal.

Mara thinks Chef is bad with portion control. She has no inkling I ordered him to triple the quantity he usually serves each day to ensure there are leftovers for Mara to take home. I don’t care what she does with the food once she leaves here with it. Knowing she can eat when hungry makes me desire to hand-feed her anytime her stomach growls.

When Mara’s second hiss is strained through clenched teeth, I guide her toward the armchair Rafael vacated. I don’t knowwhere he goes after placing Mara into a situation that demands a response from me, but he disappears if it means Mara and I will be the only two people in the room.

I know what he’s doing. He knows I’m not strong enough to withstand the magnetizing pull that forever cracks between Mara and me and is hopeful it will remind me that my mother is not a woman I should take advice from.

It does. Every spasm affects me, but I am stuck between a rock and a hard place. It isn’t solely my skeletons I’m fighting to keep hidden. They’re not even Mara’s, but I have no right to steal her cloak of invisibility any more than the woman I have an unhealthy obsession with.

Partway across the den, Mara says, “I’m fine, Ark. Truly. The arch of my foot is just a little tender from trying to m-maintain a grip on the ladder.”

“Grip on thetoprung of a ladder you should have never been on.”

“It is my job to c-clean?—”

“It is your job to do whatever the hell I tell you to do,” I interrupt, doubling the rise and fall of her chest. “And for now, I am telling you to sit.”

She plops onto the armchair, her submissiveness sending a current straight to my cock. It acts as if I didn’t find release only hours ago when the hem of her maid’s outfit slips high on her thigh from me carefully lifting her foot to inspect her ankle.

I’ve told Mara numerous times to wear whatever she feels comfortable in, but each day, without fail, she arrives looking like every billionaire’s wet dream, and I’m forced to stroke my cock for the second time before midday.

Heat creeps across the back of Mara’s knees when I roll down the cuff of her sock. It matches the coloring that hits my cheeks when I notice her ankle is swollen.

“Did you fall? Your ankle looks inflamed. That isn’t arch damage from gripping a ladder too firmly.”

“It’s nothing?—”

I flash her a stern glare, stopping her lie before it can be fully issued. I have enough people lying to me and for me. I don’t need more.

You’d swear Mara heard my inner thoughts when she confesses, “I wasn’t watching where I was going, and I t-tripped over a box in the entryway this morning.” The color drains from her face as she glances at the floor. “It was addressed to Veronika.”

Her hiss this time is more in jealousy than pain, but I let her play it off as if it is in response to me removing her shoe, because she has no reason to be jealous.

Even weeks after our first meeting, I still can’t be in the same room as Veronika for ten minutes without wanting to dig a pen in my ear. There’s no way we would have lasted the eight-year term of the contract Fyodor wanted us to sign, and mercifully, both Veronika and my mother are out of time to prove otherwise.

Veronika’s “invitation” expired this morning at 8 a.m. sharp.

She is finally out of my hair, leaving me only one gargoyle left to wrangle—and perhaps a heap of guilt I’ve never truly acknowledged belongs on my shoulders as much as it does everyone else’s.

When Mara’s chest sinks, disappointed by my lack of reply, I wet my lips before saying, “Apparently, the makeup Veronika left behind when she packed this morning is invaluable to her, so Rafael organized to have it couriered to her hotel.”

Needing to keep my focus off the rapid rise and fall of her chest before it forces me to make a similar mistake to the one I made last Friday, I lower my eyes to her foot.

When I saw Mara through the boutique window, my feet moved for her before my head could talk me out of it. That’s how hard I have to fight to keep my distance when our exchanges could be eyeballed by a lady threatening to throw more than my career under the bus if I act on my desires.

Annoyance about how close I came to forcing Tillie to walk in on a scene inappropriate for a child grinds my back molars together as I inspect Mara’s foot more diligently.

It is swollen, but I don’t believe it is broken. She should still seek medical attention, though. Even if she didn’t make my dick ache, she is an employee who was hurt on my watch. Seeking medical assistance is the right thing to do.

“Did you have your ankle looked at when you rolled it?”

The shampoo I’m obsessed with wafts into my nostrils when Mara shakes her head. “Rafael offered”—when I growl, she speaks faster—“to take me to the ER, but I told him it wasn’t necessary. My foot is fine. Look…”

She rolls her ankle and almost howls.

When I shoot up to my feet, confident I never want to hear her cries of pain again, Mara’s watering eyes follow my stalk. “Where are you going?”

“To call a doctor,” I answer, not looking back.

---