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The rain started coming down harder and when we locked gazes, a sick mixture of lust and anger pushed through my veins.
I reached forward and slapped his cheek.
His head whipped to the side, the fingers around my throat loosening as he took a step back. Finally, I could breathe without the cloud of his suffocating presence choking me.
Zeno rocked his jaw and exhaled once.
His turbulent gaze was fixed on the brick wall beside us as he collected himself.
“That was for playing me.” My legs shook as I stood up again, the effect this man had on me absolutely harrowing. The tip of my knife dug into his suit jacket’s breast pocket. He slowly, so slowly, turned his face towards me. “And for lying straight to my face with no remorse—”
Zeno grabbed my hand, spun me around and walked me backwards until I collided with the brick wall. The motion caught me off-guard. I lost my grip on my knife. It slid down my palm, but Zeno squeezed my hand in his much firmer one, causing the blade to dig into my delicate skin.
I whimpered in pain as blood oozed out of the cut. The knife clattered to the ground, but I never looked away from Zeno’s gaze.
It burned with a savage glint that made me realize I was way out of depth with this man.
“Don’t hit me,” he gritted out. “I will never raise my hand to you in violence, and I expect the same courtesy extended to me. Understood?”
Our breaths mingled, an amalgam of mint, rain, and something spicy. The scent transported me back to the night at Chaleur. My eyes fluttered closed, trying to erase the memory from my mind.
It was all in vain.
“Understood?”
“Fine,” I snapped, knowing it sounded bratty.
Zeno smirked. It was unhinged and starved and arrogant.
I loved it.
My future husband twisted my hand and…licked the drops of blood trickling over my palm. His smirk turned devious and my lips parted.
I was so fucking turned on by his crudity.
We weren’t even married and he had tasted most of my bodily fluids. My cum. My saliva, and now my blood.
“I-I came here to say—” I huffed when he kissed my wound. He released my hand and placed his own on either side of my head, trapping me between his body and the brick wall.
“Tell me,” he whispered.
One breath.
Two breaths.
I regained some of my composure and tried again. “I came here to say I accept your proposal, but I have conditions.”
“And what proposal is that?”
He was really going to make me spell it out for him.
“I will marry you, Zeno.” I thought the words would have been dragged out of me like demons from a fiery hell pit, but my voice was soft.
“What are your conditions?” Sharp, all business-like, I was suddenly reminded that I was about to marry a ruthless heir to a vast empire filled with weapons and bloodshed.
“No prenup.” If I was going to divorce Zeno in twelve months, I wanted to walk away with half his earnings. Not that I needed more money. I was a rich woman, but putting a dent in his wealth would bring me some form of joy. “I don’t want to sign one.”
Zeno laughed. It was rich, rumbly, and so genuine, I did a double take. “Nice try. You’re signing a prenup. I’ve seen your bank records, Principal Hill. You have more than enough capital to sustain your shopping habits in this lifetime and the next.”
