Page 28 of Wicked Sinner
I've never been in a real fight in my life, but fury makes me reckless. I aim for his face, his throat, anything I can reach, my nails seeking flesh. For a split second, I catch him off guard, and I feel a savage satisfaction as my nails rake across his cheek, leaving thin red lines in their wake.
But then his training kicks in.
He moves faster than should be possible for someone his size, catching both my wrists and spinning me around so my back is pressed against his chest, my arms crossed over my body and held immobile by his much larger hands. I can feel every inch of him against me—the solid wall of muscle, the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing that contrasts sharply with my own ragged gasps. Heat flares across my skin, and I’m aware of him pressed against me, of his arousal that’s rapidly growing with every second that I’m held against his body.
"Let me go," I pant, struggling against his hold. But he's so much stronger than me, and the way he's holding me makes it impossible to get leverage.
"Not until you calm down," he murmurs, his voice low and rough near my ear. "I don't want to hurt you, Bridget. I'll never hurt you. But I won't let you hurt yourself either."
"I hate you," I whisper, and I feel him go very still behind me.
"I know," he says quietly. "But that will change. What it doesn’t change is what we need to do."
There's something in his voice, something almost vulnerable—as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as me—that makes me stop struggling for a moment. His hold loosens slightly, though he doesn't let me go, and I become even more acutely aware of how we're positioned. Of how my body fits against his, of the way his breath stirs the hair at my temple.
Of the fact that despite everything—the kidnapping, the imprisonment, the complete destruction of my life—my body still responds to his proximity with a traitorous heat that poolslow in my belly. I can feel hard muscle and his hard cock, feel all of that body that gave mine such unimaginable pleasure, and I can’t help but react to it.
"What do we have to do?" I repeat, trying to ignore the way my pulse has quickened.
"Get married," he says simply, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
The words hit me like a slap of cold water, cutting through the haze of unwanted arousal. I start struggling again, harder this time, and he's forced to tighten his grip.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?" I demand.
"It's the logical solution," he says, his voice maddeningly calm. "You're carrying my child. Marriage will legitimize the pregnancy, give our child the protection of my name, and ensure that you're both taken care of. That nothing can get in the way of our union or our family."
I throw my head back, trying to catch him in the face with the back of my skull, but he anticipates the move and shifts away. "Let me make this crystal clear," I snarl. "There is nothing—nothing—you could do to make me marry you."
"Bridget—"
"I will never say those vows. Never. You can lock me up for the rest of my life, and I will never, ever agree to marry you.”
“Bridget!” He snaps my name, like he’s trying to get through to me, but it’s not going to work. He’s not going to get what he wants, not this time—not ever.
“You can’t make me. I have to say it. I have to sign papers. And I will fuckingnot.”
I tilt my chin up, staring him directly in the face.
“I won’t ever marry you, Caesar Genovese.”
10
CAESAR
Her proclamation feels like a slap in the face, but I absorb it, maintaining my calm.
She’ll understand eventually. She’ll forgive me. She’ll come to terms with this being the best thing for everyone.
She’ll want me again.
She won’t hate me.
I repeat it all like a mantra in my head, calming myself. When I speak again, I’m able to keep my tone soft, coaxing her.
"Think about what I can give you," I murmur, like I’m trying to calm a wild animal. "Security. Comfort. Our child will never want for anything. You'll never have to worry about money again, never have to struggle the way you have been."
"I don't give a damn about your money," Bridget snaps. "And I wasn't struggling. I was building something. Something that was mine."
