Page 25 of Ruined Vows
“I doubt that,” I say.
“You’ll be mine, ljubavi,” he calls. “And when you agree to be mine, you’ll never look at another man ever again.”
“You wish,” I purr, jabbing him again. “This marriage isn’t happening.”
“We’ll see about that. I always get what I want.”
“Well, be careful what you wish for. I’m no one’s toy.”
“I don’t want a toy. I want an equal,” he murmurs, and with that, he strips me of my fight.
He’s in my head.Damn him.
“You ready to call this?” He asks, but he knows he’s won.
I nod.
Fuck me. I still have nine more dates. He’s not even sweating, and he has the stamina of an ox.
Fuck.
We head to the locker room, which saves me because I need to regroup. I have to endure another car ride alone with the sexiest man alive.
When I join him at the exit door, he doesn’t gloat, and he doesn’t blink. He just stands there like he already knows how this ends.
He’s golden. Fucking gold. Because he commands attention without seeking it.
I’m at a loss for words. He steals my breath, along withmy resolve. He has a way of doing that to me. And he knows precisely what he’s doing.
This was a disaster.
Ten days to ruin, and it looks like I’ll be the victim in the game of my choosing.
I hate the fact that I have to get in his car. What the hell was I thinking?
That I’d be able to kick his ass?
Pfft.
Like that would make him less charming. I don’t talk as we walk out of the gym. He doesn’t either.
My body screams for him to touch it. And now, we’ll be in the car together again. How will I ever keep him at bay?
He’s in control of himself. And by extension, he controlled me. He’s patient. I’m not. His presence has me flustered. Sure, he let me throw my punches first, but it makes him look like a gentleman. I console myself with the fact that I drew first blood.
However, he knowingly diminished my plan to conquer him because he only hit me when defending himself.
I slip quietly into his chauffeured car. He slides in behind me.
His hand, inked and relaxed, rests possessively on my leg, like he didn’t just make a fool of me on my turf.
Because yes—he won.
No blood. Maybe a few bruises. But the message was clear.
He can take a punch. And give one back.
Mentally. Physically. Strategically. He’s impossible to goad.
