Page 8 of King of Ashes
Nostrils flaring, I dig a finger into his chest. “I don’t even like you.”
“No? Then what is it?” He blows out a breath of annoyance, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I don’t fucking know,” I say, lifting my arms in the air to showcase my frustration.
“Find me once you do.” He yanks at the handle, about to leave.
Leave me. Something snaps in me. Panic coupled with deep-rooted pain overpowers me, and my mouth files for divorce from my brain, apparently granting it instantly, because I blurt out, “Marry me.”
I didn’t say that, did I?What the heck is wrong with me?
In slow motion, he closes the door, locking us in once again. He turns to me, and for minutes that feel like an eternity, he remains an unmoving mountain, staring at me in sheer incredulity and something akin to wonder. If it weren’t for his steady breathing, I would say he’s become a statue.
I am too damn petrified by what came out of my mouth to utter another word or retract my asinine proposition.
Slowly, as if not to scare me, he approaches me, yet I get dizzy, my vision blurring, and I support myself against the counter on my palms. Fainting is a viable possibility. With nerves rioting in my belly, throwing up is another.
“Repeat that.” His voice shakes, ending on a rasp.
I stare at the floor, urging it to crack open and swallow me whole. I am beyond mortified. “You heard me.”
I won’t repeat that ridiculous proposition. It was a lapse in judgment.
He reaches out his hand toward me but stops midair and shoves it in his pocket. Hardness slips back on his features. “You proposed marriage, Zara.”
My breath hitches. “Stop saying my name.” I shut my eyes for a moment. It feels too personal, stirring something deep inside me. It hurts.
“I can’t say your name, but you want to become my wife?”
“On paper.”
“Why would I?”
Right? And the traitor of my brain can’t come up with one good reason.
I wave a dismissive hand through the air. “Forget it.”
“It’s impossible to forget a marriage proposal as lackluster as that one was.”
A smile teases my lips. “It would be a mutually beneficial union.”
“For someone who wants me to forget about it, you’re quite in business mode.”
We bridge the space between us, getting closer as if there’s a gravitational pull drawing us in.
“You still have to pass my test.”
He lifts his hand, so maddeningly slowly, as if preparing me for his touch when I am dying for it. “Done. I want a child to carry on my legacy. And we move in together.”
My eyes widen. He surely knows what he wants, making me believe he planned it all along. “I won’t leave my home to move to Chicago.”
He grips my chin, his thumb caressing along my lips, which instantly tingle. “I am the capo, Zara. And you would love it there.”
His touch scatters my thoughts in a hundred directions, trapping me in a sensual web, making it almost impossible to string a coherent thought together. “That or a child.”
He smirks and, damn, it makes him look even hotter. “That, because your longing is evident. You’ll give me one because youwant one to fill the hole. Because you’ve tried with work and it’s not enough.”
He’s too astute.
