Page 99 of Ruined Vows
“Afraid I’ll let you?”
He laughs—low, husky, and completely unbothered.
“I’d rather you come to me willingly.”
“And miss the chance to see me kick you in the throat? Where’s the fun in that?”
His eyes twinkle with that, and he leans back, expression unreadable. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Good,” I say,tilting my glass. “Then maybe you’ll give up now and cancel the next three dates.”
“Not a chance,” he says.
I roll my eyes and glance at the window. All I see is an endless sky and a horizon that feels too quiet.
The air inside the jet feels warmer than it should.
He doesn’t speak again. He just watches me. But the longer the silence stretches, the more it feels like I’m losing a game I didn’t agree to play.
The chair is soft. Too soft. I shift. Sip. Shift again. God, I’mtired.Not just from the flight, but from keeping the walls up, the claws out, and the facade that I’m still on guard because I can’t let him see me. The real me, the side of me that’s vulnerable and is catching feelings for him. And my eyelids are becoming so heavy.
Vukan
I don’t push her further. I sit and watch her try not to yawn. I sit back, let the quiet roll in, and watch her fight it. Her head drops forward, and she jerks it back, walking herself up. But eventually—finally—her head rests against the seat.
But now her chin dips lower, and her toned arms slowly give up the fight. Her breathing shifts, and she’s asleep.
At first, I remain still, just watching. Because I’ve never seen her completely unarmored, she doesn’t know it, but this is the first time she’s let me see her defenseless.
She trusts the air between us enough to drift off. That’s not seduction. That’s surrender. And it undoes me. I’m ruined. She’s captivated by me in a way no one else ever has or ever will. I’ve seen her wounds, her joy, and her fears, and I’m not running.
I think I’m falling for my little warrior.
Just as the thought comes to me, her lips part just slightly.She murmurs something too soft to make out—a faint smudge of drool forms at the corner of her mouth.
She’s drooling, and it’s adorable. And God help me—I smile.
Even perfect things crack a little.
I set my drink down and slowly stand. I walk to her, kneel beside the chair, and brush her hair back gently, tucking it behind her ear.
She doesn’t stir. She looks so small like this. Small and fragile in a way I know she’d claw me for eventhinking that she’s breakable, or vulnerable.
But she’s mine.And against my better judgment, I lift her.
With one arm under her legs and one at her back, she’s light in my arms. She doesn’t wake, and I’m shocked when she folds into me instinctively, like her body knows it’s me and she’s safe in my arms. She knows I won’t hurt her.
I carry her to the bed and lay her down carefully before pulling the blanket over her. I adjust the pillow, making sure I don’t touch her skin, because she hasn’t given me permission.
Not yet.
And when she does, I’ll be ruined. It will happen, but not like this, not at 30,000 feet in the air. No, I’ll wait until we’re together for the first time to consummate whatever this is between us. I want her awake and begging.
I signal to my flight attendant.
“Gently,” I say. “Just take off her shoes. Leave everything else. Otherwise, she’ll wake up swinging.”
The attendant nods like she’s seen this before. But she hasn’t, because most women in our circles like pampering and being treated like royalty.
