Page 74 of Deceitful Vows

She is cut off by the last person I expect. “Not now, dear. It is clear Kazimir has important business matters to take care of.” While adjusting the collar of Arabella’s dress, Dinatsksher as if she is still a child. “You should not encroach on his time more than necessary, especially for things of little importance.”

“I wasn’t meaning to be a pain. I was just…” Arabella looks as confused as she sounds. “I’m sorry,” she eventually settles on. “I will do better.”

Her apology doesn’t appear to be for me, but since I don’t have time to remind a grown woman that she doesn’t need to obey her parents’ every demand, I dip my chin before telling her I will be in contact shortly.

Arabella replies. I miss what she says since Dina commences a brutal dressing-down a mere second after I enter an estate that’s been in my family for centuries with them on the outer, as I hope they’ll soon be permanently.

26

ZOYA

“Thank you so much.”

For the first time in the history of hitchhiking, my savior dips his chin in gratitude for my praise before he signals to veer back into the heavy flow of traffic on I-25.

I can’t recall the last time I wasn’t expected to hand over a sexual favor for a two-minute trip, so to say I’m shocked he drove me over twenty miles without a single innuendo exchanged would be a major understatement.

I’m flabbergasted.

It isn’t like it would have been a hard feat. The driver is sexy, and I’m hyped up on the endorphins my stomp over Andrik’s manicured lawns didn’t deplete in the slightest. They’re thrumming through my body like I wasn’t rejected like a broken toy, and not even the fury I feel when I lock eyes with a familiar pair over the roof of my savior’s car trumps the knowledge that only Andrik could douse the flames his presence ignites.

When Mikhail smirks like he knows none of the redness on my cheeks is from embarrassment, my first thought is to run.

It’s a pity for him I’m hormonal all year round instead of twelve precise weeks.

Gravel kicks up around my feet when I make a beeline for the man who dumped me in the Pacific Ocean’s equivalent of shit creek without a paddle. It dusts my shoes with dirt. I’m not bothered. The sooty coating protects the velour material from the droplets of blood that drip from Mikhail’s nose when I sock him in the face.

“Whoa. What the fuck?” Mikhail stammers as he staggers backward.

My hit didn’t drop him to the ground as I’d hoped, but I get mammoth satisfaction from the red ooze dribbling from his nose.

“If this is about your dilated eyes and sweaty neck, you need to step the fuck back, Sunshine. I didn’t know he was going to be there.”

When I rear my arm back for another punch, my stance showing I’ll accept nothing below a knockout this time, he partially backtracks on his lie.

“Thistime. I didn’t know he was going to be therethistime.”

“You sent me to his home! Of course he was going to be there.”

“He has hundreds of homes. A dozen in this state alone. How was I to know—” His words cut off when I attempt to strike him for the second time.

He catches my fist seconds before it collides with his nose and then uses his grip on my hand to spin me away from him and yank me back until I’m cocooned by his body.

If he thinks our difference in height and build will protect him from my onslaught, he’s dead wrong.

I headbutt him before stomping on his foot. Then I bob low, bump him back half an inch with an ass nudge, before slamming my elbow into his crotch.

Now he drops like a bag of shit.

“Jesus… Christ… Sunshine. You got me in my left nut.” His face reddens more with each word he speaks, growing along with the painful glint in his eyes.

It almost has me feeling sorry for him.

Almost.

As I race for the closest trucker, I say, “Stay out of my life, Mikhail.”

He wheezes, coughs, and sputters before he shakes his head. “I… can’t… do that, Sunshine.”

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