Page 30 of Bound to a Monster

He’s staring at me like he can’t decide if he wants to break my neck or kiss me. “You could have waited.”

“Probably, but you were being such a dick.”

“See, that’s the thing, little fencer. You say you weren’t selfish and spoiled, and yet you were pretty willing to drop a bomb on me just to win an argument.”

He’s got a point there.

I could’ve been a bigger person and waited for a better time to tell him some extremely life-altering news.

But I’ve been so ground down and I just wanted a petty win for once.

“I was embarrassed, okay? I know that wasn’t great, but you pushed me.”

“Can I expect you to overreact every time we get in a fight? This is going to be a pretty brutal life.”

I grind my jaw, glaring at him. “Don’t treat me like a little kid.”

“How would you like me to treat you?” He comes closer, almost threatening with his proximity. “You want me to treat you like my wife? Or maybe like my one-night stand? Would you like that better?”

“Fuck you,” I say, and he grabs me by the arm. I gasp as he tugs me against him, glaring down at me, his eyes still haunted. And I realize in that moment how much he’s struggling with this and how badly I fucked up by telling him in the middle of our first dance.

“You want to forget what happened between us? How I fucked you until you moaned and begged for more? And now here you are, pregnant with my fucking baby. Neither of us asked for this.”

“You’re right, we didn’t. Let go of me.”

“You’re my wife now, Carmie. You’re carryingmybaby.”

“I saidlet go.”

He glares at me. I glare right back. I’m an inch from kneeing him as hard as I can right in the balls when he releases me. I step back, breathing hard, dizzy with the rush of his touch and the intensity of his stare, and I don’t know what we’re doing here. I can’t tell if he hates me like I hate him, or if he wants to fuck me senseless just like I want him to fuck me until none of this hurts anymore.

He composes himself and turns away. “I’ll get the car.”

That’s the end of it. I’m left alone to get myself under control. The valet magically reappears and Lev’s BMW shows up a couple of minutes later. I’m ushered into the passenger seat with noceremony, no friends or family to say goodbye on my own wedding night, nothing to mark the moment.

Only a man I don’t want and a baby I’m not ready for.

His house is exactlyhow I remember it.

Which kind of fucks me up. The second I walk inside, that night flashes through my mind again, only more intense, more visceral. It’s the smell of the place: warm cinnamon and whiskey. That scent triggers my body and I’m practically trembling with sexual anticipation, even if sex is the last thing I want tonight.

I’m like Pavlov’s dog. Except a horny version.

“We’ll have your things brought over tomorrow,” he says, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it on the couch. The cuffs come undone and he tosses the tie on the back of a chair.

“Great, so am I sleeping in my wedding dress tonight? Just let me go back to my place, I’ll pack a bag, and I’ll come here tomorrow.”

“No.” He goes into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of wine.

“That makes the most sense.”

“I don’t really care.”

“Why are you being like this?” I cross my arms, wanting to shield myself.

His gaze rakes over me, hooded and inviting. “Remember the last time you were here?”

I roll my eyes and make a disgusted sound. Even if yes, absolutely, I definitely remember. “I gave myself amnesia, sorry.”

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