Page 138 of Ruined Vows
“No,” I say, looking at him across the low amber light, “you’re not.”
And God help me—I love that about him.
We make our way to the kitchen, where a woman stands waiting for us, dressed in a simple dress with an apron over it.
She has a round face, is barely five feet, and looks like she’s from another era with her hair pulled tight in a bun. I half expect her to wear soft-soled shoes or sneakers, and am surprised to find she’s wearing flats.
She appears to be in her mid-sixties. She smiles warmly and nods to Vukan. “Miss Borrelli, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Irina.”
“Hello, Irina.”
She gives Vukan a side-eye. “Since it’s lunch time, I made a Hungarian dish with Greek toppings. I hope it’s to your liking,” she adds, looking at me.
“Thank you,” I say, and Vukan motions for me to sit at the marble island counter.
Irina moves deafly about the large, professional kitchen.
“Irina is my housekeeper, chef, you name it. If you needanything, ask her,” Vukan explains. “And you are not to go anywhere without a guard. Dragan will take care of you. I trust him with my life.”
It moves me. But I also know that this probably means trouble is afoot.
We eat bow-tie pasta, meat seasoned with sweet paprika, and Greek yogurt topped with feta cheese, olives, and freshly diced tomatoes. After lunch, we stroll through the manicured lawn. We sit in the open-air patio at dusk, where Irina serves us dinner.
The day passed too quickly, filled with quiet conversations and burning desire.
We retire to bed and spend most of the night making love. And the morning dawns with deep emotions attached.
I shouldn’t be in his bed.
Correction—I’m notinit. I’m standing barefoot at the edge of it, wearing his dress shirt. The one that smells like him, that’s why I wear it. I shouldn’t have let him touch me like that. Or, kiss me like I’m his future instead of his war prize.
But I let him in. I gave him a part of me I’ve never handed over to anyone—not even myself.
And when I woke up to his arms around me, his lips on my shoulder, and his heartbeat pressed into my back, well, my skin hasn’t stopped burning since he looked at me like I was something he wanted to consume.
God help me, Iwantedit, and that’s the problem.
Because men like Vukan don’t give love.
Theyconsumeit.
And if I’m not careful, he’ll consume me too.
41
VUKAN
TEA, SCONES, AND BLOODLINES
The morning light cuts soft across the bed, golden and quiet like a secret we haven’t told anyone. I don’t want to leave her, but I need to work. I marvel at the fact that she’s still here.
She’s still asleep. Mostly.
One leg is flung carelessly over my stomach, her thigh warm against my abs, possessive in a way that makes my chest tighten. Her cheek is pressed into the pillow, lips parted, hair a halo of chaos from the night I unraveled her.
My hand slowly moves to her knee, tracing up the inside of her thigh. I can’t help it. Ineedto touch her. I’ll never tire of touching her, feeling her supple skin, and watching her react.
She shifts, just enough for me to feel the heat of her bare center brushing against my side.
