Page 53 of Vengeful Vows

My nipples bud when his head tilts, and then I hold my breath. His closeness is too much to bear. He’s so beautiful, so controlled, yet clearly unhinged to mistake me as a precious gem.

Can he not see my cracked insides? His mother is skilled at unearthing them. The way she cornered me today and gave me the dressing down of my life is why I scaled a ladder outside working hours.

She was extremely clear with her message that I am using her son’s “childhood hang-ups” to wriggle my way into his life, and that she won’t leave Myasnikov until he sees me for who I truly am.

Since Ark has been more stressed since her arrival, I’ve contemplated telling him everything.

A purge is as good as a vacation, right?

When I gasp for air, my lungs never a willing participant when thoughts of my past creep up on me, Ark says, “Breathe, Mara.”

My chest shakes as I draw in a big breath. It thrusts out my breasts and tightens my uniform around my nipples, making their erect state painfully obvious.

A low hum sounds from the back of Ark’s throat. I don’t know if it is his unvoiced approval of my submissiveness or because he’s noticed how firmly my nipples are budded.

I go for the latter when he murmurs, “Good girl.”

I lick my lips, the heat his rumble caused too intense to ignore. We’re so near that my body feels every delicious thud of his pulse. The heat and hunger radiating between us is the equivalent of a dangerous inferno. I am burning up everywhere.

Needing to center myself, I close my eyes.

With one sense down, the other four take up its slack. I hear Ark’s swallow and the movements of his eyes as he drags them over my face, and taste his smell.

God, he smells good.

The femininity of my shampoo does little to regulate the sheer masculinity that bores down on me when I’m no longer capable of fighting the urge to tilt nearer to him.

Just his breaths on my cheek instigate a rush of excitement. I’d give anything to feel the full, throaty rasp of his voice floating over the sensitive regions of my body again.

The thought makes me tremble.

My eyes flutter open when Ark whispers, “It’s almost too much. Having you here. In my bed. Smelling like this.” Everything outside his room ceases to exist when he adjusts the collar of my uniform, his fingertips floating over my collarbone. “It is almost too much.”

My throat is burning so much that it is an effort to get my words out, but I manage—just. “Then I’ll go.”

“No,” he spits out, gently pushing back on my shoulder. His expression is complex, and his eyes are narrow. “My threat is still valid, Mara. I will tie you to my bed if that is the only way you’ll learn to sit still for two damn seconds.”

“You just said you don’t want me here.” I’ve never once in my life snapped at anyone like this, but I can’t hold back. “But you won’t let me go. You’re confusing me, Ark. I don’t know w-what you want.”

“I want you!” Inky-black hair curtains his face when he shoves his hands into his pockets, and he twists away from me.“But having you could come at a cost greater than anyone could ever imagine.” He turns to face me, the fury in his eyes lessening when he notices my bewilderment. “I can’t do that to you. I just can’t.”

“Do what to me?”

I feel the inexplicable pull that forever overwhelms me when he is near growing as intently as the hurt in his eyes when he says, “You’re a mother, Mara. You have a child.” It isn’t hatred for Tillie in his eyes when he continues. It’s admiration. “A precious daughter you’re meant to protect from the monsters of the world.” The animosity I was seeking earlier fills his eyes as he mutters, “From monsters like me.”

The sound he makes when he races through his bedroom door is pained, as tormented as the hiss that whistles between my teeth when I try to go after him and fail.

My ankle could bear my weight. I didn’t lie when I said it was more uncomfortable than painful. I’m just not brave enough right now to pretend it can.

23

ARKADIY

Rafael’s dark eyes lift to mine when I enter my office at the speed of a bullet being dislodged from a gun. He’s nursing a half-consumed glass of whiskey and sniffing a cigar like he doesn’t screw up his nose every time he’s offered one by a foreign dignitary.

He places down the gift from a Saudi prince when I say, “Call Darius and organize for him to transport Mara home. She’ll be out for a week in her condition.”

“Fuck her overthatgood?”

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