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“I thought I fucked that attitude and belief out of you.” He touches me now, fingers gentle under my chin as he raises my face.
The gentleness belies the anger, the rough tone, the vibrating violence.
“So, you go above and beyond, protect, report in, and betray me,” I say. “You have sex with me and make me tell you I belong to you when all you want is to marry me, marry into my family, and get everything, is that it?”
“No,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “To do that, I’d have to take Leo out of the picture, and we’re friends. He’s my boss, friend, family. I’m loyal.”
I laugh. “So loyal, you’ll marry his pathetic sister.”
“The only person who thinks you’re pathetic is you.” He stops and his words sit, weighing on me, uncomfortable and spiky edged. “I want you, Mia. I told you that. You being mine means something.”
“Like having a real place at the family table.” I can’t let this go, I can’t. Because if I give in . . . if I give in, I’m lost. He’ll know exactly how naked I am. How fragile he makes me, because . . . because . . .
Because I think I’m in love with him.
Think?
I am.
I’m so in love with Christian I can barely see straight.
And I can’t ever forgive myself for that mistake. It’s all about belonging and ownership and not love. He’s never once mentioned love.
Because a man like him will fall for someone perfect and whole and untouched by evil.
Not me.
I swallow and it’s like there’s broken glass in my throat.
“Mia—”
“You get a place? Is that why I’m yours?”
“Does it matter?” I don’t answer him and he goes on. “You are mine, sweetness, so what does it fucking matter?”
“It matters, Christian. It matters.”
“Mia . . .” he says, soft and almost broken.
But I shake my head. “I can’t trust you, Christian. Leave me the hell alone. We’re done.”
“So, you’re sick of fucking me, is that it?”
“Maybe.”
Never, not ever in a million years. I will let this man do anything and everything to me. I just want . . .
I want the impossible.
His love.
So, I can’t let him touch me.
“Two can play your game, Mia. Maybe this diatribe is because you wanted to get your rocks off with me. You wanted to feel good and you did and now you’re done and you’re walking away.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then when are you saying? What the fuck are we doing? You’re mine, I’m yours. I claimed you, marked you. You’re my woman. That’s what I’m doing. I’m letting you know who and what you are. To me.” He pauses. “What are you doing?”
