Page 229 of Hate to Love You
Fuck this. I’m not losing her over some damn panties.
My foot slams hard on the brakes, causing the car behind me with my men to slam on theirs. The sound of screeching tires and people honking echoes through the street as I rip the panties off the rearview mirror, tearing the delicate lace fabric.
Leaving the car running, I step out onto the street and chase after her on the sidewalk.
“Abigail!” I thunder, making her jump.
“Fuck you, Roman,” she says, still walking wiping her eyes.
“Abby, will you just turn around and look at me for one—”
“Look at what?!” She shouts suddenly, whirling around to glare at me, the faint traces of tears streaking down her cheeks. “The trophy of some other nameless bitch who was marking their territory? No fucking thank you!”
She glares at me before suddenly storming back down the sidewalk toward me, pointing her finger.
“I’ll have you know that I don’t give a shit how rich or powerful you are, you ego-centric, maniacal, misogynistic asshole! I’m not a toy for you to play with! And I won’t be just another one of your conquests! I have too much respect for myself to—”
But her voice fades the second she sees I’ve pulled my lighter from my pocket….and have lit the panties ablaze.
Right here on fucking Fifth Avenue.
The New Yorkers around us gasp and point, some stopping to stare, others choosing to move away, or ignore us entirely.
But I just stare at her, her brown eyes studying the old lace shriveling and crumbling to dust on the sidewalk.
Then without a word, I step toward her, grab her hand and yank her toward me, cupping her face and kissing her hard.
“You don’t seem to get it, Foxy,” I growl against her lips. “No one else matters but you. And no one ever will. The bitches that came before you, were a dime a dozen. They meant nothing.”
I crush my lips to hers again, landing yet another bruising kiss on her soft lips.
“You have me, all of me, Abigail Wayne. And don’t you ever fucking doubt that.”
The last of the tears in her eyes fall down her cheeks and I wipe them away with my thumb.
Fuck. I hate knowing I made her cry.
“Now,” I say, as softly as I can manage. “Will you please stop confusing the fuck out of me, and just get back in the car, so we can get on with our day?”
Silently her eyes scan mine, before she finally bites her lip. Slowly a wickedly playful grin spreads across her beautiful face.
“Fine,” she purrs, batting her lashes at me. “But, if all of that is true, then you certainly won’t have a problem with me driving your car then, will you, darling?”
“Well, I—”
But without another word she steps past me, storms over to the driver’s side door, and gets inside.
Is she fucking serious?
However, Abby told me the night at my penthouse that she hasn’t driven in years, and I’m willing to bet she has no idea how to drive a stick. So, taking a deep breath, I walk back to the car and open the door, as an angry driver whizzes past, honking and yelling at our little caravan of cars blocking traffic.
I have to stop myself from impulsively pulling my gun from my holster and shooting his back window out.
Probably not the best idea in the middle of downtown.
Foxy sits in the driver’s seat, her arms crossed tightly across her body.
“Abby, if you want to drive the car it’s fine, but I’ll have to teach you how first. And even if I wasn’t late for a meeting—”