“Your mistake for leaving me alone then,husband,” I shot back. “Good luck getting me out of here now that I know this room exists. If you’re planning to keep me prisoner, I need a way to get my aggression out. Otherwise, you might wake up with a knife in your chest.” I smiled sweetly. “Or not wake up at all.”
He snorted. “You’re more than welcome to try. But you should know, I don’t like sharing my toys.”
“Well, that’s a shame, because what’s yours is mine and all that.” I batted my eyes. “I am your wife, after all.”
We stood there, measuring each other in this space that fit him like a glove—and, in some aching way, fit me, too. The truth was, I’d always felt more at home throwing knives than parading around in a dress.
Just because I knew it would piss him off, I ambled to the center of the mat, testing the give as steam came out of his ears. The proportions of the room were perfect forfootwork and close-quarters combat. The air held that faint, familiar tang of sweat and steel, and the high ceiling meant I could practice sword play.
“I think Ilovethis place.”
His eyes darkened with infuriated annoyance. “You’re seriously using our pretend marriage to commandeermytraining space?”
“Of course I am,” I grinned. “You’re the one who put a ring on it. Oh, wait, I’m still waiting on my diamond. Anyway… game, set, match, husband.” Maybe I was still a little bit woozy from his blood because this all felt a little too… fun.
He stalked closer, stopping a few paces away. With the low ceiling and those beams overhead, Dante loomed over me. Too much male for the room.
Definitely too much male for me.
Still, I wasn’t about to give an inch.
“Fine,” he conceded, teeth grinding. “We’ll share the space. Work out together. I have to say, I’m curious,tesoro,to see what you bring to the mat.”
“Share?” I laughed. “We’ll be splitting the time. Like mornings and evenings. Or Mondays and Tuesdays. Or maybe this can just be my wedding present.”
“Are you afraid to face me?” His deep voice turned into a purr, practically daring me to cave. “Is the poor little rich girl used to practicing all alone with her knives?”
“I’m not afraid of you.” I traced the edge of the mat with my bare foot. “I want that entire wall,” I jerked my head to a bank of stands and shelving.
“For what?”
“For my weapons.” I glared up at him. “Which I know you brought back, if you bothered to remember my list.”
He grinned outright this time. “Oh, I bothered. Theservants are still packing, which will take a while since I suspect half your trunks will end up being small armories. But why wait? What do you say we break this place in right now?”
Fire burned in his blue eyes, and suddenly, I had a feeling I was the one who’d been outplayed.
33
EMBERLINE
He took off his shirt.
Because of course he did.
Dante Dominico was an asshole put on this earth to torture me, and apparently, the best way to make me miserable was naked from the waist up.
Fucking fine.
I was immune to his perfect abs and slabbed chest. To the fact he looked like he’d been carved by some old Italian master at the top of his game, like one of those fallen angels on a pedestal in Rome.
“Bet I can kick your ass, even in a dress.” I locked my fingers together and stretched, my vertebrae popping back into place, one by one.
Asshole overplayed his hand, challenging me right now.
I was running on super high-grade petrol when I was used to spluttering along on regular. A Maserati instead of a Fiat. My husband’s own blood was going to help me humiliate him, and I couldn’t wait to rub his nose in defeat.
“I’ll take that bet.” His black hair was damp at the temples as he gathered it back into a ponytail, powerful chest rising slow and controlled, as if his lungs didn’t know how to work hard. “What are we fighting for?”
