Page 28 of From Rome, With Hate

This can’t be happening. Panic starts to overwhelm my dreaded hangover. “Look, I know what I did with writing the article in Holt’s magazine was wrong, and I owe you for that. I’ve apologized a million times since I confessed it was me, but what you’re doing is so much worse.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” I say, dryly. “You’ve tortured me for months, never letting on when you’re going to collect. And here I was, foolish to think you would have gone about this in the way asaneperson would have. A call? A text? During theday?Instead, you randomly show up at the club and force me to go with you. Now, we’re flying thousands of feet in the air to God knows where. This could have easily been a one-and-done kind of deal.”

“We’ve never been the one-and-done kind of people, have we?” His own question causes him to blanche, as if the words fell out of his mouth faster than his mind had time to stop them.

It also hits me in a deep, dark place—one I’ve refused to touch for years. I’m not even entirely sure what he meant by that.

“Whatever, Rome.” I sigh, too hungover and tired for this conversation. “Can you just give me my phone please?”

“No.”

Hatred for him weaves itself into a knot in my chest. A knot I can’t ignore.

Anger fuels me, propelling me to stand. I’m unsteady on my feet and think I may really throw up this time, but my frustration with Rome forces it aside. A culmination of aggravation with Rome boils over, and his blasé attitude isn’t helping.

I march across the cabin and reach out to snatch my purse from beside him.

Rome’s faster than me, and he grabs my purse and holds it back and above his head before he finally looks me in the eye. Darkness consumes his usual bright blue eyes. Blue eyes I’ve allowed to manipulate me one too many times. He looks tired, and despite him playing this keep away game with me, he’s deadly serious.

“I’m warning you, Lark.” His voice is deep and velvety.

“What are you going to do? Bend me over your knee and spank me?” The question rushes out of me before I’ve realizedI’ve said it. Focused on the task at hand, I don’t wait for an answer before I’m lunging for my purse again. My knee lands between his leg and the arm rest. I’m halfway sitting on his lap. He jerks back, holding the purse farther back out of my reach. He groans when my other leg flies up, pressing against his other thigh. I’m now completely straddling his lap.

“Give me”—I grunt, stretching as far as my body allows—“my purse.”

I press one hand to his shoulder, pushing up to get leverage, and he lets out another groan as I manage to catch the other end of my purse. We play a game of tug of war before he finally gives up.

Satisfied I won, I sit back on my heels and I offer him a mocking grin. “Thank you.”

His eyes are hardened, and his entire face is flaming red. Frozen beneath me, he doesn’t move. The only movement is coming from his heaving chest. Then it hits me.

Too busy caught up in the mission of stealing my own purse back, I didn’t realize the position I’ve now put us in, or the fact I’ve spent the last few seconds dry humping him.

My thighs are pressed tightly against Rome’s. The hem of my tight dress has ridden up my legs and is now wrapped around my hips, revealing the front of the lacy thong underneath. There’s a noticeable swell beneath his black slacks from me rubbing all over him and, fuck, amid our struggle, I smashed my breasts into Rome’s face. Red marks blush the curves of my breasts from where his stubble grated across my skin.

My eyes drop to my hand still wrapped around his shoulder before I swing them up to catch his piercing blues. Heat blooms in my lower stomach.

We stare at one another in silence, and for the first time, I allow the memories of our past to assault me. I’m suddenly back to being seventeen years old, sneaking into a party bathroom,kissing my mortal enemy for the first time. My chest sparks at the memory of the thrill of it all.

Then it’s stolen in a flash.

“Excuse me, sir.” Someone behind us clears their throat, catching both our attention.

I follow Rome’s gaze over my shoulder to where one of the jet’s crew members stands at the front of the cabin.

“We’re clear for descent,” he says, his gaze bouncing between us. “You’ll need to take your seats and fasten your seat belts.”

“Thank you, Antonio,” Rome states, his tone agitated.

Without looking at him again, I slide backward off his lap. He flinches, stiffening once more, but I keep my gaze down as I readjust my dress and tuck my hair behind my ears before retaking my seat. But not without snatching my purse from Rome’s lap.

Antonio disappears back to the cockpit. After buckling myself in, I breathe in deeply, forcing my embarrassment to subside. I hate how Rome gets under my skin easily. How we both slip into old habits, toying with one another just to get the others feathers ruffled.

Even when we aren’t trying, we play games with one another.

I eye Rome from across the aisle, remembering all the heartbreak that came with allowing myself to fall for my enemy. The deceit. The betrayal. The agony.