Page 102 of Hateful Games

The man pales and rushes to say, “Of course, sir.” Then looking at me, says, “It wouldn’t be a first for our magazine, Mrs. D’Cruz.”

“Why? Are your readers perverts?”

“Rose,” Nova warns while trying not to laugh.

“What?” I hiss at him.

Without lifting his unnerving eyes from mine, he orders the others, “Give us a moment.”

All of them—the photographer and his assistants—scurry away, leaving us alone near the entrance of the maze. The arch decorated with colorful flowers while lights from the nearby lamp shroud us in semi-darkness.

Nova’s light mood dissolves into the harsh one he reserves for when we’re alone. Our interaction earlier in the hallway feeling like a dream. I hate how easily he’s able to switch from hot to cold.

“How many times do I have to tell you to be careful around others?”

“I am not kissing you.”

“You’ll be kissing me tomorrow at the altar.”

“It’s an annoying necessity,” I defiantly answer. “One we could’ve avoided if your mother hadn’t insisted on us getting married in a church.”

He glares and angrily says, “Yeah, because it’s all about what the Kapoors want.”

“I thought I was a D’Cruz now.” My reply only angers him more and I smile.

In the next breath, he hauls me against his ripped chest with his fingers digging into my waist. One hand tangles in my curls and he pulls my head back, his heavy-lidded gaze falling on my lips. “Maybe I need to show you that you are. Why wait until tomorrow?”

“You mauling me for the last hour wasn’t enough?”

“Just playing the part of your lover.”

His smug retort infuriates me. He didn’t leave a single inch of my bare skin untouched at the excuse of posing for the countless boring pictures we had to take. Half of which wouldn’t even see the light of day.

Even now, his hand glides upward to toy with the knot on the back of my blouse.

One pull and it will come undone, baring my breasts to him.

His eyes flare heatedly, arriving at the same conclusion.

After making the mistake of letting him get close and deceiving me eight years ago, almost begging for a kiss, I’ve hardened myself against reacting to his proximity. His chilling insults and indifference over the years.

I don’t allow lascivious thoughts involving him to invade my mind.

I’m not the same naïve and defenseless eighteen-year-old girl anymore.

He will learn it soon.

“Try to kiss me and I’ll bite your tongue off,” I threaten.

Unperturbed, he arrogantly rasps, “Are you scared you’ll enjoy it?”

“More like I’ll throw up.”

“Shame because I had different plans to dirty that mouth. A kiss was just a start.”

“I’m interested in neither.”

His breath teases my lips when he taunts, “Sounds like a challenge.”

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