My gaze flicks to the counter behind him.
“The cord from that hairdryer would loop around your throat nicely. Two seconds to get it in place. One sharp pivot. Drop my weight and you’d hit the tiles before you realized I wasn’t flirting.”
His chest rises, and a small smile dances at the corners of his mouth.
“I could do it now,” I say, leaning in ever so slightly.
For a beat, neither of us moves, then his hand comes up and his fingers span the back of my neck. He kills the space between us with one tug so our bodies collide, my wet skin against his solid wall of heat.
“You could.” His hand moves to my throat, thumb pressing against the wild rhythm of my pulse. “But you haven’t… and you won’t.”
His gaze drills into mine, and I almost whimper at the way he makes myblood turn nuclear.
“I know everything about my wife, Tierney Viacava. Every job you’ve finished. Every corpse you’ve left behind. I know the exact number. I know the dates. And I have a record of when you last had a shot to make sure you don’t get pregnant.”
My breath stutters.
Featherlight fingertips skim over my wet shoulder, tracing a slow path through the goosebumps he’s pulled from me. He watches the reaction and almost smiles.
“You don’t have to fight for survival anymore,” he murmurs, his mouth hovering just short of mine. “Not as my wife. I’m all you’ll ever need. That comes with my protection.”
His thumb presses beneath my jaw, tilting my face up.
“Understand something, though,” he continues, voice low and raspy. “I’m not someone you can eliminate. And I’m sure as fuck not your latest assignment.”
My chest rises and falls as I force air into my lungs, pretending the throbbing heat low in my core isn’t there.
For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to kiss me, and part of me actually wishes he would. I push the deceitful urge down and tell myself I’d bite his tongue if made a move.
When I press my hands to his warm chest, he releases me and steps aside, leaving a sudden absence that’s colder than the tile beneath my feet.
“Dry off, princess,” he says, already turning toward the door. “Wouldn’t want you catching a cold.”
And just like that, he walks out.
I brace my hands against the vanity and lean forward, water dripping from my hair as my pulse refuses to steady.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I mutter once the door clicks shut.
The buzz under my skin is worse than any fight I’ve ever walked away from.
Craving Bronx was never part of the plan. In fact, it’s the worst possible outcome.
However, I’m not naïve enough to believe he’s happy about my father cornering his family. Bronx didn’t marry me for romance. The Viacava men don’t make sacrifices without calculating the return.
Which means he has a backup plan.
A way out of this marriage and ammunition to strike back at my family.
And I refuse to let myself fall into whatever trap he’s trying to lure me into. The charm offensive won’t work on me. Temptation won’t either.
As the day drags on, Bronx keeps to his home office and I stay in the one space he never visits—the cinema room with its comfy sofas and wall-sized screen.
I’ve stared at my phone for the past hour, waiting for my da to reply to my text messages. My living in the Viacava’s world does not mean I’ll depend on them. I’d rather die than be a kept little wife with no voice or freedom.
I want my independence without having to ask Bronx for a single damn thing.
“There you are,” his voice comes from behind me. “We’re going out for dinner. You’ll find the closet full of Viacava appropriate dresses for you to wear.”
