Page 97 of Arranged

“My God. Do you honestly think this sham of a marriage means anything? Not to me.” I couldn’t think straight. Definitely not around him. I tried to walk away, but he was having none of it.

But my reactions were involuntary, learned behavior after Derek’s antics. I spun around, immediately pointing the weapon in his direction. In doing so, I sloshed wine over the rim of the glass.

He was much better trained than I was, immediately able to grip the weapon.

“Be careful, Firesong. You don’t want to do anything you’ll regret.”

“Trust me. Everything I do is intentional and I rarely have regrets.”

Only after a little struggle was he able to take the Beretta from my hand. There was more fire in his eyes than I’d seen before and he wore a smirk, almost one of admiration.

I broke free from him again, backing away until I bumped into the bar. I barely managed to place my wine on the surface before he advanced.

That prompted me to suddenly act like some impetuous child.

I threw things at him.

A glass. A wine opener. Coasters. Everything I could get was fair game. He dodged most, his grin growing wider with every informal weapon I could find. He even managed to suck down the rest of his drink, thudding it against the table where he placed my weapon alongside the one I’d taken from him.

“Damn you.” I rushed from the room, knocking over a wooden statue in the doorway, which he skipped over as if nothing. I flew into the kitchen, this time grabbing a couple of pots and tossing them in his direction. The horrific clang matched the rabid-dog shriek I allowed myself.

He cornered me by the island, but I was quicker than he was, bolting to the left. But damn him if he wasn’t right there, attempting to cut me off.

That wasn’t going to happen. We played the game of jumping from side to side a few times before I managed to get a jump on him, running toward the front door. I had a split second to disengage the security system, although my mind was sticking barbs into me about why I was bothering. Let the entire neighborhood hear the system going off. What did I care?

Because something in the back of my mind, a different nagging voice reminded me the games outside this house were very real.

And extremely dangerous.

But I needed space away from him to think. To breathe. To figure out if he was lying. By the time I threw open the front door, Alejandro was right behind.

Both Gio and Bronco were racing up the walk after hearing the noise. Gio skidded to a stop a soon as he saw us.

“Everything okay, boss?”

“Yes,” he growled.

“Get out,” we both yelled and I elbowed Alejandro right before Gio’s eyes opened wide and my husband slammed the door.

I was shocked when he managed to grab both my arms, immediately driving me back against one foyer wall.

The hard thud was jarring, but not nearly as much as the intensity of his touch. Yet I fought with everything I had to escape his clutches even as every nerve ending was seared. Red-hot heat roared through me like a firestorm, claiming my desire and turning it into utter need. I could tell he felt the same by the tension in his body.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I hissed while still trying to catch my breath.

“Taming you.”

I laughed in his face.

“Not possible.”

“Oh, you think so, my wild Firesong?” He crushed his weight against me and I was more breathless, my longing more unstable than ever.

“I know so. You aren’t qualified.”

He lowered his head. Why was it every time he became fully aroused his nostrils flared like a bull’s? And why did that small action turn me on as much as it did?

There wasn’t a decent answer.

---