Page 116 of Sweet Animosity

Don’t open it.

Don’t open it.

Don’t open it.

Of course, I freaking opened it.

Sonofabitch.

It was gorgeous.

My fingertip ran along the stunning vintage Cartier diamond necklace. With the geometric interlocking chain pattern and the three massive emerald-cut diamond pendants, it gave off a 1930s Art Deco vibe. I was fairly certain Reese Witherspoon had worn something similar to the SAG awards a few years back.

With extreme care, as if I were handling a baby bird, I raised the necklace from its bed of red velvet and held it up to my neck.

Dammit.

With my pale skin, black hair, and red lips, it was like this necklace was made for me.

I stared down at the cool diamonds as they rested against my palm. There wouldn’t be any harm in trying it on. Or even wearing it for a bit. It wasn’t like I was truly keeping the gift… just borrowing it.

My mind went back to my haughty declaration at brunch that I couldn’t be bought.

If Var kept it up, he was going to make me eat my words.

It wasn’t something I was particularly thrilled to recognize in myself, but if I were truly honest, I wasn’t exactly not thrilled, either.

I knew this was all bad for me, but it wasn’t like the man was tempting me with half a pack of cigarettes and a bacon sandwich. These were diamonds! Really big ass diamonds.

Not to mention having a small army of staff at my fingertips and an expense account at probably all of the best stores in Chicago.

It was just soooo tempting.

Especially when it was all coming from a hot-as-hell, domineering, borderline feral man who had godlike skills in the bedroom.

I mean… a girl could do worse.

He was also funny, intelligent, and thoughtful in his way. He might act like a bull in a china shop at times, but it was hard to find fault with a man who moved mountains to get me to the hospital in time, arranged for a private room, and then paid the whole bill.

I’d also never had so much fun with a man in my life.

It was so rare to find a man who could match me in an argument.

There was no denying that Var was up to the task to go toe-to-toe. I had to admit, on more than one occasion, I’d been disappointed by an ex-boyfriend who simply couldn’t hold his own against me.

It wasn’t terribly feminist of me, but there was just something about a man who was stronger, more powerful, and at times more stubborn. A man who didn’t take no for an answer and didn’t shy away from taking what he wanted.

The way he liked to push me against a wall and kiss me senseless was fast becoming my favorite drug.

I was in my late twenties. It wasn’t like I didn’t know what kind of men were out there in the shallow dating pool. My choices were dwindling to either Grabby Hands from the club or Boring Bob.

It was getting exhausting and frankly demoralizing to play Bonnie Tyler’s “Holding Out for A Hero” at full volume before I got ready to go out to a bar or on a date, only to be disappointed with the selection of males on offer.

There was something more than a little enthralling about being with the type of man I could envision running through a fire for me.

And without any doubt, Var was a streetwise god with a filthy mouth.

The man was almost always fresh from some fight.

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