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Real anger flickers in his gaze, and I take an involuntary gulp of air.
I don’t hand the phone back.
This time, he holds out his hand. “Do not fucking push buttons you have no idea about.”
“We’re getting married. That—”
“Know your place.”
I chuck the phone on the seat between us. “You’re a fucking no-good asshole, Nikolai Wilder. If you don’t want to marry me, then don’t.”
“For fuck’s sake, Rose. I haven’t looked at the piece of paper and I’m working. I don’t know what I’m looking for. You and me getting married will cause problems. That’s it.”
I turn to stare out the window at the people and the buildings that light up the night. “You’re hiding something.”
“You hit the fucking nail on the head. I’m a no-good asshole. There’s better out there for you, and we both know it.”
His words are blow to my stomach, and I whip around to face him. “Are you trying to make me leave?”
He scoffs. “I should, but I’m not.”
“Nikolai—” I stop because I’m not sure what I want to say. Right now, I’m mad, scared, frustrated. I want him. I need that touch, one of the sweet moments I hoard like rare jewels, the one that tells me everything is okay.
I don’t doubt his love. No, it’s worse. I doubt his belief that we should be together, that he’s good enough for me. He can’t let me go, and I’ll fight even him for us. I’ve done it once, and I’ll do it again. But if there’s a danger here, one he deems bad enough, and he locks me out, he just might find the strength— No. I’ll keep him safe.
“You can’t get rid of me,” I hiss.
“I’m fucking aware. I tried.”
The dry note to his voice has me smiling against my will, regardless of the anger and fear dancing inside. We arrive at the boutique hotel, and again, I’m hit with so many different emotions. The girl in me wants to clutch a hand to her chest and grin at being somewhere like this city; even in Queenstown, we don’t go into the glittering city center too often. The adult wants to march inside and have this out. Me? Nikolai’s Rose? I want to both snuggle into him and taunt him into depraved acts.
He gets out of the car, leaving me to follow, and like always, he steals my breath away.
I know he’s angry; with me, something else, whatever. I know it because I know him. It’s beyond the irritation I forced while driving here. This is deep and burning, and I think I helped light that fuse.
Rafe looks at me, his face as emotional as granite, so I flounce in after Nikolai.
He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t speak, doesn’t touch me. When we finally get to the suite, he turns on the bedroom lights that run above the floor to ceiling window and opens the curtains.
“Strip.”
I glance at the window. The lights in here are on. People can see inside. “N-Nik—”
“Now.”
Pushing the dress from my shoulders, I pull it down over my breasts and hips, letting fall to the floor, leaving me naked, wet, and aching.
He takes one of the big padded chairs, high-backed and armless, and places it front and center in the window. “Sit, Rose.”
Shaking, I don’t move. “You don’t care about the wedding, do you? Or me? I know you’re keeping some kind of secret—”
“Sit.” He stalks up to me, pulling off his tie. “And be quiet.”
I sit, and he ties my wrists behind the chair, making my back arch, thrusting my breasts out. Under his gaze, my nipples bead, and that dark, sharp throb of desire ricochets through me.
He goes to his case and returns with some silky soft rope. He kneels in front of me, tying one ankle to one side, and then the other. The chair is big, the seat wide, and the bastard’s tied each ankle not to the front legs, but to the back ones, forcing me to slide forward, my legs wide enough that everything is exposed.
He traces a gentle finger over my lips. “Don’t make me gag you.”
