Page 15 of Ruthless Reign

“Relax,” I said, holding up my palms, showing her the gun pointed toward the ceiling. “It’s just me.”

She took a long, deep breath, her golden eyes glancing around her room. “What are you doing in here?”

“You were having a bad dream,” I managed to say despite the prick of her blade’s edge digging into my skin. “I was just trying to help.”

“Help?” She still didn’t lower her guard or her weapon. “Do you think scaring me awake in the middle of the night is helping me?”

“Well, it’s certainly better than whatever was happening inside your head,” I said. She pressed the knife harder against my windpipe, and I sat up straighter, trying not to back down but also not wanting to get my throat sliced open. I ignored the lace nightie she had on and the delicate dance of fabric over her perfect perky tits. If there was ever a good time to ogle my new bride, it wasn’t after she’d had a nightmare.

“What were you going to do with that, huh?” She nodded toward my pistol, still in my left hand. “Shoot me in the head to protect me from myself?”

“I thought someone snuck in,” I explained. “I thought someone was hurting you.”

She paused, seeming to consider that for a moment before sneering. “I don’t need your help, Roman.”

“Fine,” I said, and when she didn’t lower the knife, I dropped my hand to her wrist and tenderly…oh so gently…slid it down to her elbow, hoping the contact would ground her, would make her realize she’d nearly murdered her own husband because of whatever she’d been dreaming about.

“What time is it?” Perhaps trying to get me to stop touching her, she moved her weapon away from my neck and looked at her phone, resting on the table next to her bed.

“Two in the morning,” I said, running my fingers back up her forearm, ignoring how soft and delicate her skin was as I took the knife from her grip and placed it next to her phone.

“Were you still awake?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Why?” She furrowed her brows and pouted her lips, and in that moment, I didn’t care about family titles or where she’d come from or what she and her brother might have planned forus. She looked so delicate, so precious, that I wanted to climb into bed next to her, wrap my arms around her, and protect her from every evil thing haunting her.

The thought confused me, so I stood and put distance between us. She’d bled for this war, sacrificed as much as any Rose. I should find a way to trust her, especially if I wanted to have a real marriage with her. But she was still a Caputi, my enemy, and everything I’d been raised to hate. Trust had never come easy to me, and it definitely wouldn’t in this relationship. She wasn’t even trying to meet me halfway.

“Get some sleep, Julia,” I said instead of answering her question. “We’ve got a long road ahead.”

I walked toward her door, but she called out to stop me.

“Roman,” she said, making me turn back to her. “Thank you for being prepared to protect me.” She nodded toward my gun.

“I said you were safe here,” I murmured. “I mean to keep my word.”

“Even if it’s from you?” She raised an eyebrow, her lips twisting into a cute grin. “What if I have to smack you again?”

“Well, now,” I teased, “let’s not get carried away.”

I closed the door behind me to her soft giggle and took a deep breath to slow my racing pulse. Something tickled the side of my neck and when I reached to swipe it away, my fingers came back crimson. I walked to the primary bathroom in my room and clicked on the light, grimacing at the cut on my throat. It was barely a flesh wound, nothing more than what I might have done shaving, but the thrill of her having caused it sparked something in my gut, echoing down to my balls.

My cock had been half hard when she smacked me earlier in the night, and now that she’d pulled a knife on me, I ached with the need to release. I wanted to hold her down by her little wrists and make her come on my face before burying myself deep inside her.

Yes, I was married to her, but this compulsion was a problem for so many reasons, not the least of which was how deeply her hatred for me ran. Despite agreeing to the patronizing and revolting “procreation” clause in our marital contract, I wouldn’t sleep with a woman who didn’t want me. I wouldn’t force myself on her unless she begged me for it, and I wouldn’t sully the image of our alliance by fucking around with other women, infidelity clause aside.

Which meant only one thing.

Letting out a deep exhale full of regret and self-deprecation, I shucked off my clothes and climbed into the shower. When I fucked my fist thinking about the beautiful half naked woman in the other room, I told myself it was because of physical attraction. Nothing more. And certainly not because of how her ire matched my own in the most delectably deplorable ways.

When I wokeup the next morning, I made breakfast for both of us and checked in with my sister. She’d talked to our father that morning and he told her to tell me to keep going with the Caputi truce, despite the Roses that disagreed.

“Shit will even itself out,” he’d said. “But keep an eye on your six.”

I had a shift at the garage, so by the time Julia came downstairs in her fluffy pink robe and matching slippers, the prospects I assigned to guard her had already shown up and posted outside.

“Sleep well?” I asked, ignoring the cute rumpled look on her face.

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