He lets it fall off my arm, only to move it to my hip where his fingers dig in.
Why does that feel nice?
“What’s a matter, cupcake? You don’t like me touching you? I’m not like him. I would never touch you with ill intent.”
I try to step forward, but he’s quick and tugs me closer.
“I don’t bite.”
“I’m not worried about you biting me.” My voice has an odd quality to it that I’m not used to hearing.
Leaning his head in until I can feel his warm breath, he whispers, “Then what is it you’re worried about? Afraid I’ll kiss you again.”
As soon as the elevator opens, I bolt, and he lets me. That’s exactly what I’m worried about. If he kisses me again, I’ll forget my motto of swearing off men and beg him to do so much more.
I’m feeling a little needy after spending the last two months with Wilson. While I was successful in avoiding sex, he continued to push for kissing and physical contact. It wasn’t awful, but it was less than satisfying.
My brain and body are not helping. They’re convinced Darius would be enchanting. Both absolutely certain he’d be one of those life-altering moments you can’t come back from. But he’s a player. A man I want nothing to do with, so I need to be strong and get away from him.
As soon as my feet touch the threshold of the front door, he’s there, hurrying to reach my side. A gentle pressure on my back, the warmth of his hand a silent promise. It’s a light touch that guides me to the black SUV parked in the circle drive. Once he opens the passenger door, he hands me my backpack.
With a shaky breath, I tilt my head back, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly as I try to compose myself. When I hear his door shut, I grab the seatbelt and click it.
As I’m digging for my phone, I ask, “What did you want to talk about?”
“Your father.” He briefly glances my way. “Have you spoken with him since he woke you a few days ago?”
“How did you know…” I pause, suddenly understanding. “I see. So, this is your doing?”
“Answer the question.” His voice sounds a little more demanding than the playful one he often uses. “Have you?”
“No. Let me guess.” I bring my finger to my lips and tap. “He’s gotten in over his head again. The people he’s in debt with have made a few ultimatums. He had nothing to offer them but me, so he hired you to get rid of Wilson.” I cross my arms, annoyed.
“No.” He gives his head a shake, then continues. “I mean, yes, your father is in over his head. But no one hired me to do shit. I came across it all on my own. Once I learned what was going on, I used what I knew to make your father and Warren see things my way.” He taps the steering wheel as if he’s nervous.
“Oh. My. God.” A rising tide of anger washes over me, tightening my fists and making my jaw clench. “You arsehole. So, you what? Bought me? How much am I worth? Do you expect me to be agood little girlandplay nice, too? Am I supposed to fuck you as well? So, I’m not really free. They sold me to the highest bidder. I hate you, you know? Hate?—”
“Shut up!” The cab reverberates with Darius’s deep, booming voice, a sound that vibrates in the chest. “I did not buy you.”
I whip my head around, eyes blazing, and glare at him, my rage blocking out the other words he spews out.
How dare he yell at me?
This is unbelievable. How the hell did I not see this coming?
Well, he can just forget it. I don’t care if he paid ten billion for me, I’m not—I repeat—I’m not marrying him, and I sure as hell am not sleeping with him.
Chapter 7
Darius
Her tirade about the Culberson contract has me so engrossed I almost forget I’m driving.
What the hell is wrong with these people?
Aware that the practice is still a part of an elite group, that doesn’t make it right. The thought of Ingrid being coerced into a life she abhors, a life that would stifle her spirit, guts me.
My estrangement from my family is not without cause. The biggest is this arranged-marriage bullshit—a tradition they elevate to near-sacrament. Only those with privileged and historically sanctioned bloodlines are allowed to mix with ours. All others are off limits. Step outside the lines and you’re not just disowned—you’re hunted. When I say, “running for your life,” I mean it. Blood was spilled to keep the lineage pure, and the duty to make sure it stayed that way fell to a single family.
