Page 31 of Broken Vows

“And yet, you’re delayed in your communication or unresponsive. I’m sure since you’re still learning you don’t realize common client courtesy is informing me ahead of time that you wouldn’t make our meeting.” His condescending tone ruins any glory I felt from standing him up that day. “That was incredibly unprofessional. Looks like you might need some guidance. Maybe even some handholding as you navigate your career.”

No matter how hard I try to not react, my nostrils flare. “You’re the client,” I say, pushing the words through my gritted teeth. “I don’t need guidance. Whether or not you like it, I am the one in control. Not you.”

He takes another step forward. “In control, huh? I think you must have misunderstood our previous interactions. I am always the one in control. In fact, from here on out, I’ll be calling the shots of where we go and who we meet.”

“I didn’t realize you were so skilled at wedding planning. Is this your first marriage? Have there been others? Or are you planning more in the future?” Like with that woman from the hotel. The more his eyes taper, the more my pulse spikes. My mouth twitches into a grin. “I think—”

Theo grabs my shoulders, flips me around and slams me against the SUV with such ferocity that my breath is knocked out of me. “What the—”

An electric bike zooms past where I was just standing, so lightning fast the wind swooshes my hair. My body freezes, confined between the car and Theo. Everything around me stills. The traffic, the pedestrians, the city. The only sound is my heartbeat thudding in my ears. Theo’s sturdy, firm body crushes me, steals my air, but it’s comforting and warm like a weighted blanket. Murder fills his eyes as his gaze flicks at the bike rider but then he looks back at me. Really looks at me. When his eyes lock with mine, something shifts. His eyebrows cinch, moving from rage to concern. The air is broken with nothing but rattled breaths and throats swallowing. My heavy pulse thuds in my ear, in my chest, and I swear even through our jackets I can feel his pounding heartbeat against mine. He’s so close that his warm breath fogs the air above my head. One second passes. Then another. Time stretches as everything around us mutes. It takes until now to realize that my hands are gripping his waist.

His entire body is flattened against mine. Entire. Body.

Holy shit. His cock hardens and twitches against me and I freeze.

Almost like he realizes what just happened at the same time as me, he drops his hand and takes a wide step back. I immediately feel a cold void.

I shouldn’t be disappointed.

“You okay?” he says, scanning me from head to toe.

My insides melt. Theo just saved me, and my mind stutters, trying to reconcile the contradiction. This man I hate, who I’m fairly certain hates me back, who infuriates me, and who I fully intend to destroy, just shielded me.

“Yes.” I clear my throat. “Yes, thank you. That guy came out of nowhere, huh?”

This is what I say, because I don’t know what else to do. Theo’s no longer pressed against me, but a strong, electric current between us remains. It’s palpable, heated, and confusing.

And so very fucking wrong.

15 Lexie

After the near accident, Theo and I keep a safe distance from each other as we wrap up the first venue visit much faster than anticipated. His touch lingers on my skin and I feel betrayed by own body—the effect of the man I loathe, the man about to be married, is infuriating.

“We have two hours before the next visit,” I say as we step outside. “We can meet back up, or go through more wedding items, or…”

“Or we could grab lunch because I’m starving.”

Lunch. Oof. I’m so not ready to engage in conversation with this man for the next hour. “Sure.”

“I know a great spot. You’ll love it,” he says like he knows me, but he doesn’t. He knows nothing, remembers nothing about me. But a guy like him probably assumes everything he likes, every woman will, too. At least he’s predictable. What’s next, throwing his jacket over a puddle so I don’t get my shoes wet?

And yet, he shielded me with his body. So, who really is Theodore Astor?

His driver brings us to a nearby place. Outside the restaurant, Theo holds open the door. It’s such a simple gesture, but it makes me a little weak in the knees. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a strong independent woman who doesn’t need a door held open for her. But my last boyfriend used to slip through first, barely holding it so it didn’t slam my face.

I hate that it feels nice.

The atmosphere here is lovely. Beautiful cedar tables, large cushy leather seats, wine menus as thick as the bible. I don’t even know how we got a table at a place like this so quickly, but I know by now that what Theo wants, he gets.

After the hostess seats us, Theo shrugs out of his jacket. Everything about him screams perfection. Broad shoulders. Defined pecs. The way the fabric of his shirt pulls taut when he leans back in his chair. He rolls up his sleeves, exposing dark tattoos and the subtle ridges and veins nestled below black forearm hair. God, I hope he never finds out what those tattoos do to me. The way his hands could work me, own me, wrap around my neck—

“Lexie?”

Shit.

“What did you say?”

If he caught me looking at him in the most unprofessional way, he doesn’t react. Shake it off. I’m just experiencing a bout of cognitive dissonance after cheating death earlier. I’ll be back to normal in no time.