Page 139 of Marrying the Savage

I stand. “Well, this has been emotionally enriching. Good night.”

I make it three steps toward the door before he catches my wrist.

Not hard. Never hard.

That’s becoming part of the problem. He knows exactly how to stop me without hurting me, which somehow makes me angrier than if he were cruel.

“Let go.”

“No.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“You have been in several moods all day.”

“I contain multitudes.”

“You contain lies.”

I turn on him. “Excuse me?”

His eyes hold mine. He knows.

Not everything, maybe. But something.

Damir Volodin doesn’t look at a person like that unless he has already begun taking them apart in his head.

My pulse picks up.

I smile. It’s not my nicest smile.

“Careful,” I say. “If you stare any harder, you might accidentally start seeing me like a person.”

He ignores my jab. His grip shifts, thumb moving over my wrist. “You have been avoiding me since breakfast.”

“You were not at breakfast.”

“You looked for me.”

I hate him.

“I looked for the coffee pot.”

“It was in front of you.”

“Maybe I was confused.”

“You are many things. Confused is rarely one of them.”

I decide to weaponize annoyance before it becomes something else. “Fine,” I say. “Would you like to know why I am avoiding you?”

“Yes.”

The directness throws me. I had expected more circling. More control. More of that maddening calm. Instead, he simply looks at me and waits.

My anger flickers. Dangerous.

I step closer, deliberately entering his space because distraction is a strategy, and I’m desperate enough to use whatever weapons I have. “Maybe I decided you are bad for my health.”