He doesn’t even get close.
Atlas turns his head, mutters something I can’t hear, and the guy stumbles back like he just remembered he left the oven on in another country.
Then he’s in front of me.
Close.
Too close.
My breath catches. My pulse trips. The heat coming off him is wildfire.
“You finished?” he asks.
His voice is honey over gravel.
Low. Dangerous. Designed to destroy.
“No.” I lift my chin, daring him.
He leans in, not touching, but there.
“Unless you want me to start smashing heads in, you’re finished, kardhoúla.”
My stomach tightens at the sound of that word—little sweetheart—like he has any right to say it after what he did. After he offered me up like a solution.
But I know him. Know what he’s capable of.
And if he starts a fight, my father and uncles will lose it. Not on him. On me.
I grit my teeth.
I nod once. Just once.
That’s all he needs.
“Let’s go,” he says.
And I go.
Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t want him.
Because I’m sick of the ache in my chest.
Because maybe—just maybe—I need to see for myself whether this is a game.
Or something so much worse.
Even if it leads me straight to hell.
Chapter Nine-Atlas
Leading her out of the Den, I am painfully aware that I’m barely in control of myself.
My nerves are vibrating, my heart hammering like I’m going into combat, not into a car with a woman I intend to have aboard a plane before sunset tomorrow so I can marry her halfway around the world from her family and friends.
Why is that important to me? If I’m being honest, it’s because I won’t risk them talking her out of it.
Fuck. This woman has me unhinged.
