Page 165 of Misrule
She whipped faster.
“I didn’t mean anything I said.”
They’d been through this already. How many times would the motherfucker apologize to her?
“You’re a fucking liar,” she retorted. “You meant everything.”
“I was frustrated.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“Roxanne—”
She recoiled at the way he said her name. Any other time, she would’ve melted into his arms at the sexy sound. Enough of this bullshit. “You can be frustrated. The bullshit you threw at me was plain fucking mean. It showed your true colors.”
He thrust his fingers through his hair, then gave her a pleading look. “I love you.”
Those words from Knox still held power over her. Whenever he said it, giddiness lightened her head and sensuality invigorated her body. Now, though, she only felt gutted.
Because she still loved him—and almost admitted it—she clenched her jaw. She’d ride the storm. Her feelings for him would flicker out in due time. She just had to keep reminding herself what a motherfucker he turned into when he was angry.
“I know you still love me.”
She glared at him. “What the fuck is it to you if I do, motherfucker?”
“You do,” he insisted. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t put on this charade to save my life. You’d let them kill me. I want to die, Roxanne. My life is meaningless without you.”
She had so many responses to that, but she refused to continue this conversation. “Knox, I’m busy. I don’t have time to talk to you.”
“I’ll do anything if you forgive me.”
“You’re forgiven,” she stated. “Too much fucking trouble to hold a grudge. Anything else?”
He pulled her into his arms, thrusting his hard cock against her. “Remember the last time you and I were alone in the clubhouse in the early morning?”
They’d fucked each other on a barstool, one of their intimate moments that would live in her memory forever.
Without warning, he covered her lips with his own. Roxy’s body responded immediately, and desire shot through her.
This motherfucker was out of his fucking mind or thought she was. Dick whipped and dumb bitch were two entirely different things.
She elbowed his stomach, then stomped his foot. “Get the fuck away from me,” she snarled, hating her breathlessness and not caring that he was hopping around like a jackass.
“Go,” she ordered. “Leave me alone before I fuck you up. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.” She planted her hands on her hips. “We’re going to let the bullshit with the boys blow over, then we’re going to announce that I’ve decided I really don’t want to marry again. You or no other motherfucker. That’s it. After that, we’ll go our s-separate ways.”
She turned away. Her voice shouldn’t have cracked on that last sentence. It just crushed her that whatever other wonderful things destiny held for her, it seemed, true love wasn’t one, when that’s what she’d dreamed of from a young age.
“Roxanne—” Knox started.
“Knox, Roxanne,” Mortician interrupted, walking into the kitchen and holding a stack of magazines. He nodded to them, strolled to the table and sat the magazines down.
Roxy leaned over the table. Based on the spines of the thick magazines, these were wedding based. He smiled.
“I thought you could take a look to see if you like any setups. Dresses…”
Roxy narrowed her eyes. “Boy, fuck you. You know damn well we already ordered our dresses.”
Surprise crossed Mortician’s face. “You didn’t cancel your order?”
