Page 111 of Sweet Animosity

She was a wild and beautiful filly who needed a strong hand, and damn if I wasn’t looking forward to being that man.

Plus, there was the whole sticky issue of her witnessing a major crime and my involvement and protecting her from the various mafia syndicates calling out for blood.

It wasn’t often I could play the hero and act the knight in shining armor.

Add in my close friends’ happiness in their new marriages, and it was a solid, rational business decision.

Love didn’t factor into it.

Until now.

Nothing like a challenge to fire a man’s blood up. It may take a month, a year, or the rest of my life, but I was determined to turn that ‘I hate you’ into an ‘I love you.’

Vivian stood glaring at me with her hands on her hips as I shrugged out of my suit coat and gun holster in the entranceway to the penthouse.

It was hard to take her anger seriously when she looked so damn adorable in that ridiculously too large tourist hoodie and no makeup. She was like an angry baby doll.

I laid my gun and holster on the marble table and gestured for her to follow me.

“Where are we going?”

“I thought you’d enjoy a long, hot shower after your ordeal.”

Her expression softened as I placed an arm around her lower back and led her through the bedroom to the bathroom. The moment we crossed the threshold, she spied her pink metal makeup case and a box of hair crap on the bathroom counter.

With pursed lips, her head snapped in my direction.

I raised an eyebrow. “Which would you prefer? To continue to walk around with dirty hair and no makeup or to let it slide that I had my men pack up your shit and bring it here?”

Refusing to give an inch, she simply lowered her gaze and conceded the battle.

I made a mental note for future battles. It might seem underhanded to use her vanity against her, but all was fair in love and war, especially when sparring against such a worthy opponent as Vivian.

Besides, I adored how much she loved her designer clothes and shoes and makeup. It would make it that much easier to spoil her rotten. American men got it all wrong when they complained about high-maintenance women.

In Russia, we loved our women that way.

We loved our women to be beautiful, curvy, intelligent, confident, and stubborn as hell.

In fact, I couldn’t wait to introduce Vivian to my parents. My mother was going to love her. I could already picture my girl making an entrance in black bear fur with red lipstick and an obscenely large diamond necklace around her elegant neck.

If I’d dared to bring home some super skinny, all-natural, ChapStick wearing vegetarian, my family would chew her up and spit her out.

No, Vivian would hold her own with my large, loud family.

And she would fit right in with Russian culture.

This was a good decision.

I turned the shower nozzles on, checking that the temperature was not too hot for her delicate skin. When I turned back to face her, she was still fully clothed. “Take that crap off.”

“I will when you leave.”

I ripped my shirt over my head as I kicked off my boots. “What makes you think I’m leaving?”

“I’m not showering with you.”

With a wink, I reached for my belt buckle. “Agree to disagree.”

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