Page 98 of Ruined Vows
I let out a soft breath of a laugh. “There’s a full spread waiting.”
“Champagne too?”
“Of course.”
She nods, as if this is a business negotiation, like we didn’t just trade scars at thirty thousand feet.
But mostly, it’s as if she didn’t let mesee her.
But I did. And that’s the difference now. She can retreat. Re-arm. Re-group. Pretend. But I’ve seen what’s under her defenses and the designers she wears.
And she’ll never be able to hide it from me again.
Twenty minutes later,she hasn’t said a word.
That alone should terrify me.
Bianca’s quiet is never casual. It’s loaded, weaponized, and knowing her the way I do, usually laced with a dagger and a trapdoor. But now?
Now it’s just stillness, and it concerns me.
She’s curled in the leather chair across from me, her head tipped slightly toward the window. One knee is pulled up. Her arms crossed like a fortress. I love how her hair falls over one cheek, and her face is soft, but with a glow I can’t explain.
My cock swells. She’s sexy as fuck. And that’s when I realize it’s late. She’s trying to stay upright and out ofmyreach.
She’s tired, and her body is giving up faster than her pride will allow. She won’t move to the bedroom on her own volition. No, my warrior will never willingly give up her guard, because that’s viewed as a weakness in her eyes.
She doesn’t look at me. Just glances out the cabin like I’mnoise. Bianca commands the leather chair across from me and acts like the air between us is a battlefield.
“You might want to get comfortable,” I suggest. “You know it’s a long flight,” I tell her casually, swirling the ice in my glass.
She laughs, then scoffs before she finally says, “Nice try. I sleep in places that don’t scream temptation and tactical loss.”
She can be sodramatic.The response is soher. I love it.
“It is,” I agree. “But only if you let it.”
That earns me a glare. It’s sharp and beautiful. She shifts subtly—but I catch it. She’s exhausted, but she’s too proud to admit it.
This will be interesting.
27
BIANCA
THIS IS NOT A SURRENDER
Irefuse to sit on the bed. It’s too wide. Too sleek. And too obviously designed for seduction and bad decisions.
Instead, I plant myself in one of the oversized leather chairs near the bar, legs crossed, a glass of water in hand like it’s armor.
Vukan lounges across from me with infuriating ease—shirt unbuttoned just enough to show skin I amnotstaring at.
“You know the seat reclines,” he says, sipping his bourbon like we’re at some goddamn lounge and not flying straight into emotional warfare. “There’s a bedroom. You can have it.”
“I know what happens when people get comfortable,” I reply.
His lips twitch. “Afraid I’ll take advantage of you?”
