“You signed a contract,” he growls, yanking me against him again. His chest is like concrete, his washboard abs beneath his gunmetal button down rubbing against my body and making my nipples hard.
He goes in for another kiss, but I jerk away.
“Against my will. Don’t I have any say at all in what that looks like?”
“Contractually, no,” Ransome answers. His eyes are dark, black almost, and his hands are still gripping my waist.
“Just because we have an agreement doesn’t mean you can take advantage of me whenever and however you want, Ransome.”
I realize that I just said his first name. Not “sir,” not “Mr. Rozanov.” But hisname. And I’m guessing, by the way his jaw clicks and his lips tick in the corners, that he realized it too. And he’s trying to decide how he feels about it.
And what he’s going to do about it.
Once again, I realize that all my dreams are quickly turning into nightmares. Being kissed by Ransome, touched and held by his strong hands—it feels nothing like I fantasized it would. There’s no gentleness to it, no care. Not an ounce of respect for me as aperson. And while that’s hot in theory, reality has a nasty way of crushing fantasies to dust.
I know one thing for sure now: Ransome is not the man I thought he was. And I don’t want this. Not like this.
But it’s too late.
“I don’t think you understand, Amara.” His restraint barely holds as he speaks. “We have to make this look convincing. The contract and everything that comes with it is worth shit if it looks fake. And that’s exactly what people are going to think if you look like a deer in the headlights every time I touch you. Understand me?”
I don’t answer right away. That’s a mistake. Ransome pulls me hard against him again, enough to make my breath leave my lungs in a small yip.
“I am not a man that will be made to look like a fake,” he snarls, so close I can taste his breath on mine. “Do you understand me?”
Ransome Rozanov is full-on threatening me at this point. For a kiss, or maybe more. A lot more.
But I stand my ground. I didn’t get out from under a violent father just so I could end up under a violent boss. And he’s not going to turn my hard-won freedom into a joke.
“I can’t fake intimacy,” I snap. “Lust, maybe. But that’s not what we need to do, is it?” I hold his gaze, no matter how badly it burns. “You said it yourself: this can’t look like a fling. And you yanking me around isn’t going to convince anyone that this is real. It’s going to do the opposite.”
I glare up at him. Ransome glares back. I can feel the intensity of his stare on me, along with one unspoken warning:Do not test me.
But I don’t give in. I won’t. I have been a fighter my entire life and I’m not about to stop now. Certainly not just because some big scary mafia man threw his coffee on the floor to prove a childish, selfish point.
I’ve had worse than coffee thrown at my feet.
He must sense it, somehow—that I’m not backing down. Slowly, his shoulders relax a fraction. “What do you want, then?” he finally asks.
“I want to know the truth about you. What you do when you’re not here.”
“Your snooping hasn’t tipped you off?” he asks.
“I think you know how hard you are to unlock. I know you’re a dangerous man. You’ve said that. I can see it. Fuck, I canfeelit.”
“That should scare you,” he says.
“I’ve seen a lot of demons in my life, Ransome.” If he can tell I’m being honest, he doesn’t show it. If he’s surprised by the fact, he shows it even less. “And I know I’m just your mouthy assistant, but I am hard to scare. So stop trying. It won’t get you what you want.”
For a moment, he is quiet. I wonder if he is going to let go. If he’s going to turn and walk out and give me the silent treatment for talking back. Or worse, slam me against the wall and remind me just how hard his hand can squeeze around my throat. That would be a very Ransome thing to do—teach me my place, one way or another.
But he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t walk out, doesn’t squeeze tight, and doesn’t let go.
“Believe me,” he exhales, “the less you know, the better.”
“The more I know, the more I can accommodate,” I say.
“I don’t need accommodation. I need compliance.”
