Page 7 of Hateful Games

His lethal tongue.

“You bribed my staff, stalked into my bedroom like an intruder, and have the audacity to touch my things while taunting me at every turn. Did you expect me to welcome you with open arms and bat my eyelashes?”

Jaw grinding, he throws his cigarette to the floor and crushes it under his boot. Then situating my book on the shelf, he rests his hands on either side of my head. Bending closer, he drawls, a breath away from my lips, “I would teach you manners if I actually wanted to make you my wife.”

What kind… almost slips from my mouth.

On one side, the statement throws me for a loop. While on the other, I’m curious about his method of teaching. Which is wrong. So fucking wrong.

While we glare at one another, his thumb ever so slightly skims my bottom lip. The small gesture causes a weird flutter in my belly and I swallow thickly. My eyes widen a fraction when he traces the movement with his fingertips.

The more I don’t give him a reaction, the bolder he becomes.

I’m afraid he’ll swallow me whole.

Him staying away is crucial to my sanity.

“Nova,” I gasp, when his hand almost wraps around my throat. His name on my tongue breaks whatever momentary spell was cast on us.

With a vile curse, he removes his hand and pushes off me. His fingers ball into a fist at his side, right before he hides it by shoving his hands inside his pockets.

“Call off the wedding.”

“What?” My voice is shaky.

“You’re going to call off our engagement.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I must have grown two heads when I imagined you and your dad’s urgency when I was being forced to sign the papers, or maybe I became momentarily deaf when you raised your objection.”

I don’t tell him that I already tried. If anyone can undo our engagement, it is him.

“I don’t want to marry you,” he grits out.

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“Don’t test me, Rosalie.” An ominous edge is in his tone while a storm brews behind his eyes. “Unless you want to be a pawn in our fathers’ agendas, you will do as I say. I don’t fucking care if you have to fight, beg, run or throw a tantrum. As long as it ends with us not being engaged.”

The nerve of him.

Storming to him, I jut out my chin and poke my finger in his chest. Of course, he’s built like a bull. “You don’t want me, then be a man and tell our fathers yourself. Don’t expect me to do your dirty work. I’m not a pawn, a damsel, or your scapegoat.”

The fucker actually smiles. A mocking curve of his lips.

Curling my fingers into a ball that I have pointed at him, he fists my hand and slowly backs me against the wall. He doesn’t stop until every steel inch of him is pressed against my soft curves. Until I’m sure he can hear my thundering heartbeat behind my rib cage.

Keeping my hand trapped, he taunts, “You’re a naïve little fool is what you are, if you truly believe the shit you just spewed. I don’t know whether to laugh or pity you.”

His words punch straight to my heart.

Shaking his head derisively, he straightens and smoothens his suit jacket. Even though he looks handsome wearing it and oozes ruthlessness, I can sense he’d much rather be wearing something more casual.

His attention snaps to my book lying on the floor, which he carelessly threw. Picking it up, he flutters the pages in a rapid motion. “Real life isn’t like fiction, Rosalie. There are no gentlemanly heroes, white knights in shining armors or lovesick romantics, only villains. The ones who destroy everything in their paths. You stay engaged to me, you’ll be inviting the worst of them all.”

I’m already living with the king of villains.

“Thanks for the TED Talk.” I roll my eyes. “But you don’t scare me, Nova.”

He isn’t amused. Man has no sense of humor, it seems.

---