Page 1 of Toxic Things I Love About You

ONE

roman

“You can marry me,and I won’t destroy you.”

I hadn’t thought that through.

“Did someone hit you over the head?” she asked.

That was surprisingly not a bad question.

“This is the worst proposal ever, Roman Demarco.”

I took a step closer wanting to pull her into me. It had been far too long since I held her.

“Fine. Then try this. Marry me and I kill the son of a bitch who hit you.”

She was looking to Parks for what? Shit, if I needed his fucking approval. But what she said next sent my head into spin.

“Yes.”

What in the fuck had I just done? Had she said yes? All I could see was a shit stain of a man between me and, well, hell. He was between me and her. She was my everything. The idea anyone else would have her, let alone treat her badly? Use her? No one was allowed to touch her. But this?

“Yes?” I repeated the answer because what the fuck had I just done? I was not the marrying type.

I looked back at the asshole on his knees with Parks’ gun to his head. I was the murdering type though. I turned back to my butterfly.

She smiled and nodded.

“Sure, why not? At least I know that’s not a gun in your pocket and you’re usually happy to see me.”

I blinked. This hadn’t been well thought out.

“That’s it? Because I have a cock, you’ll marry me?”

She shrugged.

“I mean. No. You said you’d get rid of that guy though.”

My fucking molars hurt, and I tried to release my jaw, but this woman was getting under my skin.

“Those are both shitty reasons to marry someone, Butterfly.”

She put her hands on her hips, and the way that dress hugged her hips, and when she moved, it pushed up her breasts. Fucking hell, that damn thing was going up on my list of shit she was not allowed to wear in public.

Wait a damn second.

“You sure are trying hard for a guy you didn’t want to marry. What the hell is that dress?”

Her hands were on her hips again, and I was struggling to keep my hands to myself.

“It’s a dress Roman. What? Jealous I never dressed up for you?”

Fucking hell.

“Maybe you should have asked me on a date, just once, and I’d have dressed like this for you.”

She wasn’t asking. She was stating a point. One I didn’t really give two shits about.

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