Page 14 of Outcast’s Vow

“When you say yes.”

My vision tunnels. Despite everything... despite my logic and my disgust... my body betrays me. My throat tightens and there’s heat under my skin when he says those words.

For a second, I almost forget the party around me exists.

But then I blink back to reality.

“When I say yes? Jeez, it looks like I’ve underestimated your ego. Consent doesn’t make you noble. It’s simply doing the bare minimum.”

“I will always seek consent first,” Baptiste says. “For everything I want to do to you.”

“What if I never want you to touch me?”

“Then you’ll just spend the rest of your life wondering what if.”

I can’t help but scoff again.

The audacity of this man.

“Is this another biological trick you’re talking about?”

“I said I don’t believe in love,” he answers, “but I do believe in physical lust that must be satisfied.”

His eyes. Bright and dark. Dangerous. Promising something that makes my stomach flip. I really shouldn’t like this. I really should be more infuriated and incensed and humiliated than I am, but something in me is thrilled at those two words coming from this dominating man... physical lust.

I turn and place the drink back on the table in showy defiance.

“And you’ve got a so-called physical lust for me?”

Baptiste doesn’t respond. He doesn’t fall into that trap. And that makes him even more infuriating.

I’ve dealt with powerful men all my life, in both a professional and a personal capacity, and I’ve usually found my way around them, but I can already tell that Baptiste is going to be an even harder challenge than any other self-important asshole with a bottomless bank account I’ve come across.

“Are we going to be an issue, Baptiste?”

“No, we’re not,” he says. “Not with me. Robots don’t bleed.”

“Ha. Very funny.”

“Besides, you’re not my usual woman.”

“What? I’m too intelligent and mouthy?”

“No, you’re too gorgeous.”

Ah.

Gorgeous?

That shuts me up.

How can a simple compliment, delivered so impassively, pierce so cleanly through my sassy snark? Am I really that reactive?

Oh, he’s good.

I swallow the lump in my throat and keep my eyes firmly ahead. How can I be humiliated and slightly – dare I say – turned on? I hate how he can bring out this temper in me. I’m usually so controlled and composed. That’s who I’ve built myself up to be. And yet he’s somehow taken over every emotion of mine like he owns it. Dominating my mind’s real estate by being such a handsome asshole with such provocative words.

“And what about you?” I finally ask. “Are you allowed to touch anyone else? Just so you know, I’ve had men hurt me before, so what about my husband?”