Page 6 of Corrupt Vows

For the good of my family, I deny myself what I want most.

She huffs, steps back, and runs her hands down her shirt as though to wipe away dirt before shaking her head at the mess on the floor. After a glance down the hall, she squares her shoulders and faces me.

“You should wait in the foyer for a minute. I’ll come get you when papà’s ready.”

Fucking hell, I want to destroy her world. I cross my arms over my chest and stare her down. She swallows and looks behind her at the study door where the shouting comes from before sighing.

“Fine, just wait here, then,” she grumbles before heading back the way she came before she ran into me.

I step toward the study.

“No, wait!”

She grabs my arm. I swing my gaze to meet hers before dropping my eyes to her hands. She lets go and jerks back.

“Sorry,” she says as she wipes her palms on her pants.

“Am I that gross?” I ask.

She stiffens as confusion creases her brow.

“What?”

I flick a glance down her body before staring into her gorgeous brown orbs.

“You keep wiping your hands like I’m dirty. Are you afraid you’ll catch something if you get too close?”

I try to keep the aggravation out of my tone, but it leaks through in the lower registers and emerges as an angry rumble.

“No, that’s not—”

I crowd her against the wall. The fear in her eyes feeds the beast in my soul.

“You should be. Iamdirty. Dirtier than apiccola principessalike you could ever handle, so don’t touch me unless you’re ready to get filthy.Capisci, little girl?”

Her audible swallow pulls my gaze to her throat. My heart pounds against my sternum and heat pulses at the base of my spine as I study the frantic beat of her pulse along the delicate column of her throat.

She doesn’t balk at my condescending tone or bristle at my insulting choice of words. Instead, she squares her shoulders and meets my stare.

“I understand, so go wait in the foyer.”

The strength in her voice astounds me. With a few simple words, she wrecks every preconceived notion I have of her.

She’s no longer the shy little girl running around in pigtails, nor is she a fragile trophy to break and consume.

She’s an obsession.

One I can never have.

I growl and stalk down the hall toward the study.

“I don’t wait, not when I was invited, and especially not because a pamperedpiccola principessathrows a tantrum,” I snarl.

Her sharp inhale shames me, but I push the useless emotion away and shove open the door.

Serenity Vivaldi will be the death of me. She tests my control.

I can’t have her, no matter how much I want her.

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