The casual statement sends a chill down my spine. How long was he watching me sleep? How did he know my size?
The dress fits perfectly. I don't want to think about the implications.
The hotel restaurant is upscale, all gleaming surfaces and hushed voices. Vance guides me with a hand at the small of my back, his touch both gentle and possessive. The hostess practically trips over herself seating us, her eyes lingering on Vance's impressive physique despite his intimidating aura. Or maybe because of it.
Once we're settled and have ordered, I take a deep breath. Now or never.
"We need to talk about getting an annulment," I say, forcing my voice to stay steady.
Vance's expression doesn't change, but something dangerous flickers in his eyes. "No."
One word. Just one. But it lands like a boulder.
"You don't understand. This isn't me. I'm not..." I gesture helplessly, "this kind of girl. I'm from a small town. I have a regular life. This trip to Vegas was a rare splurge for me."
"Tell me about this regular life." He leans forward, seeming genuinely interested despite dismissing my request.
"I…I grew up in Cedar Mill. It's tiny, you wouldn't know it. I work at the local library. I have a cat named Fitzgerald. I havefriends I've known since kindergarten." I'm babbling now. "My point is, I'm not cut out for…whatever this is." I wave at him, encompassing his dangerous aura, the tattoos peeking from his collar, the barely restrained violence in his posture.
"You think I can't tell that?" His voice softens slightly. "That's exactly why you're perfect, baby doll. Pure. Untouched by my world."
"But I don't want to be touched by your world!" I hiss, leaning forward. "This was a drunken mistake. You took advantage?—"
"I gave you exactly what you wanted," he cuts me off, his voice hardening. "What you still want, if the way your body responded to me this morning is any indication."
Heat floods my face. I can't deny it—my body had betrayed me spectacularly, responding to his dominance like a flower turning to the sun.
Our server arrives with coffee, a young man with a practiced smile. "Good morning! Can I get you anything else while you wait for your food?"
"We're fine," Vance says curtly.
The server's eyes linger on me a beat too long. "Just let me know if you need anything at all." His smile turns a shade more personal than professional.
The temperature at our table drops twenty degrees instantly. Vance's face transforms, darkness sweeping over his features like a storm front.
"Look at her again, motherfucker," Vance growls, voice deadly quiet. "Look at my wife like that one more time."
The waiter blanches. "S-sir, I didn't?—"
Vance's fist slams onto the table, rattling silverware and sending coffee sloshing over cup rims. "You think I don't see where your eyes are going? You think I won't rip them out of your fucking skull?"
"Vance!" I gasp, mortified.
The waiter stumbles back. "I'll…I'll have someone else bring your food."
He practically runs from the table. Other diners stare, then quickly look away when Vance glares around the room.
"Was that necessary?" I whisper, heart pounding at the casual violence in his threat.
His eyes, when they return to me, are still dark with rage, but it softens as he looks at me. “Abso-fucking-lutely,” he growls.
The possessiveness in his voice should repel me. Instead, a treacherous warmth blooms low in my belly.
"You're so damn perfect," he says, reaching across to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch is shockingly gentle for hands capable of such threat. “Have no idea how every man in this room is staring at you, do you?”
I don't know how to respond to that. I don't know how to respond to any of this.
Breakfast arrives, delivered by a nervous older woman. We eat in tense silence, though Vance seems perfectly at ease, as if he hadn't just threatened to mutilate someone over a glance.
