Page 53 of Auctioned to the Mafia Don
“You don’t know that,” she protests.
“Yes, I do. I know men like Alistair. I know much fear can be invoked from beneath a jacket before anyone decides whether theysawa weapon.”
“That is the most ridiculous sentence I’ve ever heard.”
“And yet, you now understand it too.”
She pulls her wrist free.
“You are impossible,” she snaps.
“Yes.”
“Controlling.”
“Yes.”
“Possessive.”
My mouth curves. “Yes.”
The admission affects her the way I knew it would. Her pupils shift. Her throat moves. Anger remains, but heat threads through it, unwelcome and unmistakable.
Still, she doesn’t step back.
“That isn’t a virtue,” she says.
“I never claimed virtue.”
“It isn’t romantic either.”
“No.”
“It’s a problem.”
“For him.”
“For me.”
That sharpens my attention.
She leans toward me, reckless with temper, eyes bright in the dim car. “I am not actually yours.”
The car seems to narrow around us.
There are many answers.
Legal answers. Strategic answers. Cruel ones. Seductive ones. Lies that would sound better than the truth and truths that would give her too much too soon.
I choose none of them.
My gaze drops to her mouth.
Slowly.
I let her see it.
Her pulse jumps at the base of her throat.
