Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63391 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
I hate that I notice how perfectly his shirt skims his chest and forearms, as if it had been sewn onto him, hinting at hard strength beneath. I hate that he smells of expensive soap and crisp linen, undeniably masculine, and that the scent makes my pulse stutter.
He’s hot as hell, which does nothing to cool my disdain. He won’t be my husband. In a few days, he’ll beg my father to cancel the arrangement. When I’m finished with him, he’ll rue the day he met me.
For now, he watches me as if he has all the time in the world, and I sit as still as marble, refusing to flinch under his gaze.
“Your father and Oleg,” he says finally, his voice a smooth, dangerous rumble, “make interesting business partners.”
I scoff. “Business is life after all, isn’t it?”
Typical. He’s no different from my father. I’m just a piece in their never-ending chess match.
He lifts a brow, amused. “Would you prefer ‘negotiation’? ‘Alliance’? ‘Peace treaty sealed with a bride’?”
I glare at him, jaw tight. “You don’t need to dress it up. You bought me.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” he says, calm and unbothered. “But I don’t say no to opportunities that fall into my lap.”
I cross my legs and lean back in the chair, folding my arms across my chest like armor.
“You think I’m an opportunity,” I say. “In the five minutes since you found out about this, you’ve probably calculated a dozen ways you can use me to your advantage. Well, I’ve got news for you. I’m no one’s possession.”
He doesn’t say anything right away. His gaze lingers too long, not lasciviously, but with the same tactical sharpness he wore when the men were in the room, as though he’s weighing me on an internal scale.
“I don’t doubt that,” he finally concedes. “But you’re definitely a complication.”
“That’s the first honest thing you’ve said.”
He lets out a low, rough chuckle. “Oh, I have no intention of lying to you. I’m just trying to decide if you’re as difficult as you look.”
My mouth falls open. “Excuse me?”
“You made quite the entrance,” he continues, undeterred. “Stormed in, insulted your father, insulted me, and then announced you’d make my life hell. You don’t strike me as someone content to play the part of a quiet, dutiful wife. But I wonder, are you all bark?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, hard. “Trust me, my bite is plenty sharp,” I say, the words spat like poison. “And I have absolutely no intention of being your wife.”
“Trust me, printsessa, I gathered that.” He chuckles.
The way he says it, printsessa, soft and sardonic, makes the Russian endearment scrape against my ears like a rusty key. I lean forward, resting my forearms on my thighs.
“Let me save us both some trouble,” I say so quietly he’s forced to lean closer. “I don’t care what deal was made. I don’t care what peace you think this marriage will bring. I won’t be sweet, obedient, or polite. I won’t smile at your men or stay in your bed. I won’t pretend this is anything but a farce.”
He blinks once. Slow. Then straightens, uncrossing his arms and pushing off the desk. He takes a few steps toward me, measured and silent. My heart stutters, but I don’t show it. I won’t.
“Good,” he says finally with a slight smirk.
I frown. “What?” I ask, unable to hide my surprise.
“I don’t want polite. I don’t want pretend. I want honest.” He stops right in front of me. “And you just gave me exactly that.”
He’s so close I have to tilt my head to meet his eyes. I note the faint stubble along his jaw, the thin scar near his temple, the steady way his gaze locks on mine. Part of me wants to run, but another part wants to be devoured. I shove that reckless urge deep and refuse to acknowledge it.
“You’re not what I expected,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
I resist the shiver that threatens to crawl up my spine.
“Let me guess,” I say, each word dripping sarcasm. “You expected meek? Naïve? Maybe someone so desperate to please her father she’d fall in line and warm your bed like a good little trophy?”
His lips twitch. “No, certainly not,” he says, leaning down close enough that I can feel his breath. “I’d be disappointed if you were any of those things, especially given your father’s reputation. I just didn’t expect you to be so angry.”
I spring to my feet, bringing us nearly nose-to-nose.
“Well, sorry to disappoint,” I hiss.
“You haven’t disappointed me,” he says, voice low.
My breath catches, but I recover quickly. He won’t know the effect he has on me. I blame my father for this, too. If Papa hadn’t sent my date home last night, I wouldn’t be so wound up. That’s all it is. My hormones are raging because I was denied what I needed and it has nothing to do with Isaac’s broad shoulders.