“Why not?” I shot back.
She took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing as she picked up the fabric of her dress. Then Rosalie came to a stop at my feet. “‘Desperate,’ says the man who killed all three men I ever kissed. Though ‘desperate’ might not be the right term ... ‘Psychopath’ would fit you better, don’t you think?”
I shrugged. “Psychopath, desperate ... I prefer ‘efficient.’ Saves time and avoids unnecessary complications.”
Her eyes flashed with fury. “Efficient? That’s one way to spin your delusions.”
“Oh, come on, Rosalie. We both know you were never really into them. If anything, I did you a favor. Admit it—you’re more intrigued by me than you were by any of them.”
“Maybe disgusted.”
“Is that why you can’t stop staring at me?” I teased.
She stood her ground, tilting her head up defiantly. “Staring at the train wreck doesn’t mean I want to be in the crash.”
“Really? Because you’ve been riding the rails for quite some time now,” I said with a smirk.
“Max,” she warned, using my name as if it were some sort of complaint, a sigh wrapped in a single syllable. “Why are you here?”
“You left the house without any muscle.”
“You mean I left without one of your watchdogs.”
“Think of them as insurance,” I explained.
She gave me a disapproving look before turning away from me. “Well, I told Lev where I was going. I can handle myself just fine,” she insisted.
“I know you can. But I won’t be leaving until Sean gets here.”
“You worry too much.”
“Only because you give me so much to worry about,” I shot back.
She looked up at me with a dark stare. “Well, if you’re going to worry, at least do it outside.”
I shook my head slowly, taking a deliberate step closer to her. “You’re always bossing me around.”
“Someone has to.”
“You’re right, and you do a great job.” My tone turned serious, the playfulness long forgotten, and the reality of our situation settled back in. “Don’t leave the house without one of my men again, Rosalie, or you won’t be leaving at all.”
Her eyes narrowed, and her lips curled into a defiant smile. “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out,” she shot back, her voice laced with sarcasm.
I held her gaze for a moment longer. “Pick a different dress,” I suggested. “This one screams ‘suburban mom.’”
With that, I turned and headed for the door. Before it closed behind me, I glanced over my shoulder one last time.
Rosalie stood there with a middle finger pointed at me.
Damn woman.
Mywoman.
CHAPTER 34
ROSALIE
Each day Max was gone, he left me with one of his hooligans to deal with. This arrangement was becoming all too familiar, and each of these men seemed more unpleasant than the last.
