Page 25 of Vengeful Vows

Bree stands up, stalking toward me.

There it is.

The fire is back in her hazel eyes, and I have to admit, I’m glad. I’m pumped. That fire seems to have an effect on me.

“None of this is my way, Declan. You kidnapped me. You forced me to marry you. Then you fucked me, and you ignore me for two days?”

I bark out a laugh. “Ignore you? Is that what you’re mad about, princess?”

“You think I’m mad about that? Are all Burkes this stupid, or is it just you?”

My own temper starts to stir, and I press my lips together.

“You’ve been treated well,” I look around. “New wardrobe, nice digs... any food you could ever want.”

She scoffs. “Oh, please. I’m a prisoner here. The fact that it is gilded doesn’t make this place any less of a cage.”

“You’re not a prisoner.” My eyes clash with hers. “You’re family now, Bree. You’re a Burke.”

“In name only,” she snaps.

I spread my hands, smiling. “So, you admit it?”

“Admit what?”

“That you’re a Burke. That you have been treated well.”

“I didn’t say that,” she snaps, pointing at me, poking me in the chest.

While she moves, that little shift dress is riding up, and my mouth goes dry.

“Sounds like you’re finally accepting your fate.” I’m doing everything in my power to piss her off because I want her anger. I want her hatred. I want something other than that despair that was so clear in her eyes.

“I’ll never accept it,” she insists. “I’ll never really be your wife. I hope you know that. I’ll never love you, Declan.”

Who does she think she is? Like I’d even want her love.

Yet, as the thought crosses my mind, my chest tightens.

Her words sting a little for reasons I can’t begin to understand, and when she points at my chest again, I grab her wrist, turning her hand inward and pulling her closer to me.

She gasps, her breasts bouncing against my chest, and I slide my arms around her waist.

“Maybe not,” I murmur. “But you want me, and you can never take that away from me.”

“Who says I want you?” she taunts, but her breath is coming shorter and shorter.

“Your body.” I squeeze her against me. “Your heart, racing away.”

“My body’s a fucking traitor,” she spits out.

I hum. “Yeah, I know how that feels.”

And as my own body betrays the feelings I should have for her—disgust, hatred—I lean down and smash my lips against hers, our teeth nearly gnashing together in my haste.

She fights me for a second and then melts against me, sliding her tongue against mine, kissing me back hard and hungrily. Then she shifts, pushes me down on the bed, and I grin up at her.

“Can’t wait to have it, can you?”

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