Page 18 of Ruthless Oath

“I’m not lurking.” I sat down at the kitchen table. “Why are you sneaking up on me?”

“Didn’t your father tell you I was coming?”

“He mentioned it.”

“You look fantastic.” He sat across from me, stretching out his long legs. “Red is definitely your color.”

He wasn’t bad-looking. Most women would probably find his tall, lean form appealing. His blond hair and blue eyes were cute in a boyish way, but I preferred muscles, tattoos, dark hair, brooding eyes, and a confident swagger. Kind of like…

Not now.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Did your father also mention our arrangement?”

“He did.” I rested my hands on the table. “It isn’t something I’m interested in.”

“No one asked if you were interested.”

“That’s part of the problem.”

“Sweetheart.” Danny placed his large hand over mine. “I’ve gotten to know you pretty well these past few months.”

“Have you?” I glanced at our hands. “Because I don’t know anything about you.”

“That will change, but first, you’re going to have to make some changes if our relationship is going to work.”

“Like that’s going to happen,” I mumbled under my breath.

“That’s one of the things that will change.” He pointed at me. “Your disrespect. Your defiance. Your tantrums. I won’t be putting up with any of those things.”

“Then I guess you won’t be putting up with me.” I tugged my hands out from under his.

He grabbed my wrist.

“Let go of me.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” He squeezed my arm. “Your father is in an important territory dispute. One that will be beneficial if he gains total control. I’m going to help him do that, but I’m also going to help him get you under control.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

“I like your fire, Lissia, but in small doses. When we’re married, I’ll let you express yourself in certain ways, but I will be in control.”

“You’llletme?” I jerked against his hold, but he wouldn’t relent. “I’m not marrying you.”

“Your father says otherwise.” He flashed a demented smile. “It’s only a matter of time, so get used to it.”

He released me, and I rubbed my wrist, grinding my molars as I glared at him.

“There’s also something else you’re going to have to get used to,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“No more visits with Marchello Accetti.”

“That’s none of your business.” I leapt out of my chair. “I’ll go where I want and when I want.”

He got up and came toward me. “I know about the cookie visit.”

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