Page 21

Silence drops over the office.

Sofia rests her chin back on her paws, completely satisfied.

Behind me, the sound of a heavy fountain pen being capped echoes with a deliberate, metallic click.

I turn around, chest heaving under my saffron dress, my heart hammering against my ribs from the adrenaline. My hands are still shaking with rage.

"What the fuck was that, Romeo?" I demand, pointing a furious finger toward his desk. "She practically offered to sit on your lap and balance your balance sheets! And you just sat there letting her purr at you!"

Romeo does not answer right away.

The heavy leather of his executive chair groans as he rises to his full, towering height. His heavy steps are slow and measured, crossing the space between us like a panther stalking into the sunlight.

"She is my accountant's daughter, Iris," he says softly, stopping two inches in front of me.

"She is a predator sniffing around my territory!" I shout up at him, Irish accent thick as I poke his hard chest with my index finger. "And you told me no when I asked for the range, but you let that gardenia-soaked tramp plaster herself over your shoulder! I am sick of your rules, Romeo. I am sick of you telling me where to sit, what to eat, and when I can breathe! I don't take orders from you!"

Romeo catches my wrist in an iron grip with each point to his hard chest.

He doesn't squeeze to hurt, but the hold is an absolute, immoveable grip. He pulls my hand down, tucking it behind my back, and steps into my personal space until his thighs press against mine.

"Are you done throwing your tantrum, Donna?" he whispers, his voice dropping into that dark, velvety register that always makes my core pulse with heat.

"No, I am not done!" I snap, struggling against his grip, trying to stomp on his foot with my sandal heel. "Let me go, you caveman!"

"You really don't know the word 'no,' do you, Kitten?" He grumbles, fucking delighted at my stake of claim on him.

"I know it," I pant, glaring through my sunglasses into the black void of his eyes. "I just don't accept it from you."

A dark, wicked grin breaks across his lips.

"Good," Romeo rumbles. "Because today, my little brat, you are going to learn what happens when you push your Don past his limit."

Before I can finish, his free arm wraps around my waist, lifting me off the floor like I weigh nothing whatsoever. The world tilts violently. One moment I am staring at the bed; the next I am draped over his shoulder like a sack of grain, my hair falling in a red curtain around his back.

"Romeo! Put me down this instant!" I shriek, kicking my legs wildly, my fists pounding against the solid wall of his back. The blows land like raindrops on a windshield. He doesn't even grunt.

"You had your chance to walk to the cliff," he says, his voice calm and conversational, as if he isn't carrying a furious woman through his office. "You chose the desk instead."

"The desk? What are you—" I gasp, outraged.

He walks toward the massive mahogany desk in the center of the room, the one he uses for business, the one where I have seen him sign contracts that end lives and marriages with the same elegant stroke of his pen. With one sweep of his arm, he sends three piles of documents, a gold letter opener, and a crystal paperweight crashing to the floor. Papers scatter like startled birds.

Then he slams me down onto the leather blotter on my back.

The breath leaves my lungs in a sharp gasp. The leather is cool against my overheated skin, smooth and unforgiving. Before I can roll away, before I can even process the sudden change in position, Romeo is on top of me. His heavy thighs cage my hips, pinning me flat. His hands catch both of my wrists, hauling my arms above my head and pinning them to the wood with one massive palm. With his other hand, he reaches up and plucks the dark sunglasses from my face, tossing them onto the floor.

My cloudy green eyes blink against the bright ceiling light. The scars around my sockets pull tight as I glare up at him, my chest heaving, my nipples hard and aching in the cool office air.

"Look at you," he purrs, his gaze drinking in my flushed cheeks, my swollen lips, and the wild fury radiating off my skin. "So beautiful when you are jealous. So wild when you think another woman dares to look at what belongs to you."

"I am not jealous of that cow!" I lie, breathing hard, my breasts pushing against the torn saffron silk, the lace of my bra barely containing them. "She is nothing. She is a bleached blonde nobody with fake tits and a trust fund."

"You threatened to drown her in the fountain, Iris." His voice is low, amused, and cruel in its accuracy. He leans down until his rough five o'clock shadow scrapes along the sensitive curve of my jaw. "You pulled her hair so hard you left a bald spot. I'll have to pay her father three hundred thousand dollars to keep his mouth shut."

"He should pay me for the privilege of touching your jacket," I snarl, my hips betraying me, twitching upward against his heavy belt buckle, seeking the rigid hardness straining behind his slacks. "She had her hands on you. What is mine. She's lucky I didn't skin her alive," I snarl, baring my teeth in delight at the thought.

"Admit it, Pet." His teeth catch the skin of my throat in a sharp, possessive bite that makes stars flash behind my eyelids. "You could not stand the thought of her breathing my air."