Page 11 of Ruthless Redemption

“Don’t,” she warns. “I’m not eating with you.”

I grin, sinking in to the sound of her voice, loving her strength even though her tone is one hundred percent vehement.

“You’ve had three days.” I continue to plunge the handle, then inch the door open a crack. Anticipation is a motherfucking drug as I creep the barrier between us wider and wider, seeking her out, my vision eagerly scanning past the disheveled four-poster bed to find her standing tall and proud on the other side.

My pulse increases, the dull throb turning into a heavy beat at the sight of her in nothing but a towel.

She’s a vision, the peach glow of sunset streaming in through the sheer curtains, the light kissing her perfect skin. I thought maybe she’d look drawn or tired after what I’ve put her through, but it’s the opposite. A warrior glares back at me, ready for a battle I would much prefer to have while we’re both horizontal. Legs entwined. Mouths frantic.

“Get out,” she seethes.

“You’ve had three days. Neither of us can afford any more. We need to make plans.”

Her chin hikes. There’s no protest. She knows I’m right and hates me for it.

“Not tonight,” she grates. “I have no clothes.”

“I can see that.” I rake my gaze from her indignant stare to her beautifully bare shoulders, all the way over her towel-covered curves that stop where the bed blocks the remainder of my view. Then I leisurely trek back up again, appreciating everything I’ve been denied for the last seventy-two hours.

“Where are your clothes?” I feign ignorance to fill the silence.

“In the washing machine. You may not have realized, but I’ve been left in here without any luggage. Not even fresh underwear.”

“You only had to ask. I’ve never left you wanting in the past.”

Her scowl deepens at my innuendo. “I won’t eat with you. You can bring the food to my door like usual and leave me alone.”

“Don’t get me wrong—I’m a slave to your affections, but I won’t be to your demands. Tonight, you either eat with me or don’t eat at all.”

She scoffs an irate laugh. “Well, I’m afraid your company would only slaughter my appetite. So if you’re forcing me to make a choice, I’d rather starve in isolation than in your presence.”

My blood boils, only this time it’s no longer from frustration alone.

Her defiance is an aphrodisiac. Her lies are like heroin.

She still wants me. I refuse to believe otherwise.

“Then let me raise the stakes by pointing out that the person you can’t stand the sight of is also the one who stands between you and the only clothes you have.” I smile, smug. “A little civility will go a long way.”

Her eyes flash with rage.

“I’ll leave you to your solitude,amore mio. When you change your mind and want to discuss borrowing my cell to call your daughter, just let me know.”

Her face crumples. It’s a split second of vulnerability before the warrior expression returns. “You’re a manipulative prick.”

Yes, I am. But I’m also the victor in this scrimmage.

“And you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” I step back into the hall. “I’ll call you once dinner is ready.”

4

MATTHEW

I returnto the living room, breathing in the scent of garlic and basil, then exhale exhilaration and victory.

I should’ve forced her hand days ago. If only I’d known taunting her was the way to encourage communication.

“He returns without a scratch.” Bishop shoots me a two-second glance as he opens a packet of pasta. “Color me surprised.”

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