Page 35 of 10 Days to Ruin

Of course they are. Because Sasha Ozerov doesn’t send grocery store bouquets. He sends impossible flowers, each petal screaming,I own everything. I can have anything. And now, I’m coming for you.

My hands shake as I read the card again. Eight o’clock. The first tick of my ten-day countdown to either submission or destruction.

“Perfect.” I crumple the card in my fist. “This is perfect. What better place to start Operation Psycho Bride than a five-star restaurant?”

“Love it.” Gina beams. “What are you gonna wear?”

I think of the bathroom at the Met. Of Sasha’s hands sliding up my thighs, his teeth at my throat. Of how badly I wanted him before I knew who—what—he was.

“Something that’ll make him remember what he will never, ever have again.”

The countdown starts tonight. But Sasha Ozerov isn’t the only one who knows how to play games.

Let’s see how he likes dating a nightmare.

13

SASHA

One look at Ariel’s dress and I know she’ll be in my bed tonight.

Part of me wants to say fuck all this song and dance; let’s get to the main event. But another part, a wiser part, counsels,Patience, patience.Half the fun is in the hunt. And this hunt will be short enough as it is. No point in rushing it along.

I lick my lips as I watch her emerge from the limo I sent. Red-tipped feathers on her dress catch the dying sunlight. A warning sign. Nature’s way of saying,Danger—Do Not Touch.

Too bad I’ve never been good at following rules.

The dress hugs every curve like a second skin, setting my imagination on fire while revealing absolutely nothing at all. Not that I need much in the way of inspiration. She’s covered from neck to collarbone, but I still have no problem picturing how easily I could grab Ariel by that delicate throat and teach her what happens to little girls who play with danger. Show her that no amount of demure smiling can hide the fact that she’sminenow.

Because that’s what this display is about, isn’t it? It’s an act of rebellion disguised as surrender.

The perfect daughter. The perfect date. The perfect wife-to-be.

I’m almost sad that she looks so meek, so submissive. I wanted more of an outright fight, if only so I could snarl in her ear,Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.

If she’d shown up in oversized sweats, at least I would’ve been justified in hauling her to the bathroom and shredding them off of her.

But fine. If she wants to yield this easily, I won’t say no.

I extend my hand as she climbs the steps. When she’s close enough, she places her fingers in mine.

Like a princess at a ball.

Like a lamb to the slaughter.

“Ms. Ward.” I let my gaze strip her bare, watching pink bloom across her cheeks. “You look stunning.”

A smile curves her lips—modest, timid, everything she wasn’t at the gala. Everything I know she isn’t. “Please. Call me Ariel.”

“Ariel it is. I’m glad you could join me.”

When I straighten to my full height, her eyes skitter away from mine, but not before I catch the heat in them. Those quick, darting glances tell me everything I need to know. Up my body, across my shoulders, to my face and away again.

Hungry. Desperate.

Good. The craving hasn’t left me since our last encounter, either. Since I bandaged her hand and imagined wrapping it around my cock instead.

“Shall we eat?” I gesture toward the restaurant’s doors, even though what I really want to say is,Shall we stop pretending?

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