Page 94 of Ruined Vows
The second the door closes, my world disappears. And it’s just us. Which usually would have me hyperventilating, but oddly, I’m not.
“Well,” I say, dropping into a seat and crossing my legs slowly. “This isn’t terrifying at all.”
“You’re not scared of me,” he replies, unbuttoning the cuffs on his one-of-a-kind dress shirt.
“I’m not scared ofanything.” I pause. “But I do believe in survival instinct.”
He sits across from me, sprawling like a man who knows exactly how good he looks doing it. “Then trust yours,” he says, voice low. “It brought you to me.”
I glare. Damn. That hits home because in the warehouse, he kept me safe. And now that I think about it, he grabbed me so his brother’s goons wouldn’t.
He probably saved me that night. But instead, I say, “That sounds like the beginning of a psychological thriller.”
“Maybe it is,” he murmurs. “But you’ll enjoy the ride.” And he winks at me.
And that’s the problem. I want to see him without his shirt. I want to touch every tattoo on his body. I want to kiss each scar, and I want him to fuck me into oblivion because I know he can.
The jet rumbles to life beneath us, and I welcome the vibration. I pull my thighs together, hoping he doesn’t notice. I glance out the window, then back at him.
“What exactly are we doing for three days?” I ask.
He smiles, slow and sharp. “Getting to know eachother.”
“I thought that’s what date one was for.”
“No,” he says. “That was foreplay.”
Oh no.
Nope. Not going there. I swallow hard to distract myself and shift in my seat, suddenly too aware of how smooth the leather is, how dark his gaze has become, and how my body is not at all aligned with my sabotage strategy.
I look at his mouth and immediately regret it.
How the hell am I supposed to survive three days of this without doing something unforgivable to a man I don’t trust with my heart—but trust with my body?
This isn’t good. This is bad. His big jet energy is only surpassed by his big dick energy, and I know he will back it up with his hard cock.
I’m in a flying sex trap.
And worse?
I think I like it.
The jet lifts off so smoothly, I almost forget I’m airborne.
Almost.
Because I’m hyper-aware of him. Like the way he is watching me over the rim of his glass—ice clinking against crystal, his eyes tracking every movement I make like he’s mapping pressure points.
The way he looks at me is like heknowsme. It’s warmth, safety, and downright intimacy. It’s as if we’ve been fucking each other for twelve hours and still can’t get enough intimacy.
Then there’s the fact that there’s a bedroom, a large TV, and an attendant who comes by hourly with water and snacks, asking if I need anything.
I should say something sharp to break the hold he has on me, and there is also the fact that he has me alone, with no interruptions and nodistractions.
It’s disarming. It’s strategic. Damn it, it’s a perfect stormof seduction. He’s pampering me, taking me to an exotic location, and he’s giving me all his attention.
I want him so bad, but I can’t give in. Instead, I cross my legs again and pretend I’m unaffected.
