His eyes are so angry, they’ve gone from their normal cobalt blue to an oceanic dark. And for a moment, as his face hovers rightabove mine, his lips close enough to kiss, I think he might just do that. I actually kind of hope that he will.
Kiss me. Mark your territory. Show them all I’m yours.
But Ransome does not kiss me. Instead, he lets go with enough jerk that I feel like I’m being shoved off.
Then he holds out his hand.
It takes me a second to put two and two together and decipher what he’s asking. When I do, I step back.
“What? No! Absolutely not.”
“Give it to me,” he demands.
“I am not giving you my phone!” I argue back. “I’m not your slave.”
“But you are breaching the contract,” he says, getting right up in my face even closer than before. In fact, his body has mine pinned against the counter.
“How have I breached the contract?” I do my best to stay on subject despite how distracting the physical contact is.
It’s easier said than done with his hard-on pressed to my stomach.
“By threatening to go out with other men. Need I remind you of the monogamy clause?”
“And need I remind you that I have followed every rule? And that holding me hostage was never in the contract in the first place and is, in fact, illegal?”
He gets even closer.
“So call the police,” he growls slowly. “Idareyou.”
When I do and say nothing, Ransome pulls back and puts his hand out again.
I hand him my phone.
After that, he leaves.
The door locks. I let out a frustrated scream. I know he can hear me. I also know he doesn’t care, because he doesn’t come back in. If I had to guess, Ivan is back on duty.
I pace around the penthouse, trying to decide what to do. I could trash it again, but that was a lot of work. I could break a window, set off an alarm, and force him to come back here when the police show up. But I’m smart enough to know that whenever cops do show up to a Rozanov house, they are probably paid off by the Bratva to ignore whatever it is they have seen there. Because, apparently, that’s how the justice system works around here.
And what a fine system it is.
So, instead, I just pace, wondering how I ever got myself into this in the first place.
Then, after I’ve been trekking back and forth long enough that I’m probably digging a ditch, my eyes land on the office door. The only closed door in the house, as usual.
And I get curious.
Padding over to it, I don’t hold my breath. I simply grab the knob, thinking I know what to expect. The rattle of a locked door, no doubt.
Except that it opens.
Inside, the air is stuffy but clean, and it smells like Ransome. Leather and pine. I flip on the lights, not caring anymore if he realizes I was in here. In fact, if he storms back in and decides to beat one out, I’m not going to just stand around this time.
I look around the room for anything new, anything that might give me insight into the world I now know about. But I’m not looking for journals or pictures or phones or anything like that. I’m not exactly sure what I am trying to find, but I know that whatever it is, it’s more personal than that.
I don’t want to know about Ransome Rozanov, futurepakhan.I just want to know about Ransome. Because no one can be this heartless, this jaded, this stone-faced.
There’s a human being in there, and I am going to find him. If I have to date him, I am going to find him.
