Page 25 of By His Vow
“Fuck. You.”
Anger darkens his eyes before his nostrils flare with irritation.
“What’s wrong? Not used to people saying no to you?” I ask, my brows shooting up so high they almost hit my hairline. “Let’s get something straight right here and now. I might have agreed to those moronic terms of my father’s will, but it is not because I want this. If I had my way, I would already be on a flight to England to start over.”
“I didn’t want his money or power, and I certainly don’t want any of yours.”
“I’ll do what’s required of me for the next year. When we’re out in public, I’ll put on a good show, make people believe it’s real. But behind closed doors, you’re nothing to me. Just like you’ve always been.”
I cringe, hearing the words come out of my mouth.
They’re cruel, fed by anger over not only his behavior but this whole bullshit situation.
He moves closer, his wide frame closing me in. My bathroom is pretty big, but with him in here, it might as well be the size of a closet.
The closer he gets, the more air he seems to steal.
“It’s admirable that you think that’s how the next year is going to play out, Tatum.”
My breath catches as he growls my name. All the hairs on the back of my neck and down my arms stand on end as I beg the rest of my body to behave.
“A year is a long time to spend hating me.”
“I’ve managed pretty well this far. How old are you, again? Almost thirty?”
His lips twitch.
“Nice try. You know exactly how old I am.”
His free hand lands on the wall beside my head and he leans closer, surrounding me with his warmth and addictive scent.
His eyes bounce between mine, but at no point does he allow them to drop again.
Either he had a complete lapse in judgment out in the living area when he checked me out, or he’s using every ounce of self-control he possesses right now.
“You need to leave.” It’s meant to be a demand, but it comes out like more of a plea.
His full lips pull into a panty-melting grin.
“I think it’s probably for the best that you start getting used to having me around, don’t you?”
“You seem way too happy with all of this.”
“Just taking it in my stride, baby,” he teases. “Now, drink this and get ready. We have work to do.”
“You are aware that I’m on compassionate leave, right?”
“Your team needs you back at work. A lot of change is coming in the next few weeks and months. Your absence won’t help.”
“And who exactly made you my boss?” I snap, instantly realizing my mistake.
“The same man who’s making me your husband.”
Before I know what’s happening, he’s wrapped my fingers around the glass and taken a step back.
“It’ll make you feel better,” he promises.
Lifting it to my nose, I sniff the toxic-looking concoction and wince.