Page 30 of Vow to Hate You

I leaned back on the plush cushion, shrugging. “Hm. Looks like we can’t make dinner if you don’t have any clothes.”

“This was an important dinner. For business.”

“Then you should have gone by yourself,” I shot back. “I’m not part of your business. Unless it has to do with our families, then count me out.”

His eyes lit with a devious glint, and I didn’t have time to move before he suddenly leaned down, pressing his hands into the cushion on either side of my head, caging me in. I lifted my chin defiantly, realizing my mistake a second later when he dropped his head until his lips were a breath away from mine.

“Youare my business.” His low voice had a thrill ripping down my spine. “Don’t play games you can’t win, Talie. These little pranks will only get bigger, and I promise you won’t beat me.”

I smiled. “You can’t promise that. You have no idea how good I’ve gotten at games in the last five years. And you don’t want to find out. If you leave me alone unless we need to play nice for our families, then we won’t have a problem.”

“Not happening,” he said, his lips nearly brushing mine. “You knew what was expected of you when we married. Being part of family business and all.”

“No,” I growled stubbornly. “I won’t be a part of it.”

His eyes darkened with mischief before he pushed off the couch to stand back up. “You will.”

With that, he strode away, readjusting his towel before going back into the closet. My pulse thudded, wondering what the hell he was up to. He reappeared, wearing only a tight pair of black briefs, and I watched him as he went back into the bathroom. Shit, maybe this was a mistake. Seeing him in practically nothing was kicking my hormones into overdrive. I could hate him all I wanted, but it didn’t stop me from appreciating how hot he was.

“I can’t make it.” His phone was to his ear when he came back out of the bathroom, his shoulders stiff with tension. “Sorry, Dad. Something came up. I’ll reschedule the dinner?—”

He stopped talking abruptly, pulling the phone down so he could look at the screen. With a frown, he tossed the phone on the counter, and I shifted on the couch. Fuck me for having a tinge of guilt. I knew how it was to piss off our parents. This dinner was his father’s choice, not Damian’s.

He grabbed a glass from the cabinet, pouring himself some wine. My eyes tracked his movements before dropping to his hard abs when he turned around. The briefs outlined his entire dick, and I swallowed when he walked back to the couch. Without looking at me, he sat down on the opposite side.

“What are you watching?” he asked casually, staring at the screen.

“A cooking show,” I said slowly. No way he was going to forget I stole all his clothes. His relaxed demeanor was putting me on edge even more than when he was pissed.

All he did was nod. I stared at him, nonplussed, while he stayed focused on the TV. He didn’t look at me once, and I decided silence was best. Leaning back, I tightened the robe around me, pretending to watch the show.

We sat in silence through three episodes, and I only got up to drink a couple more glasses of wine. It wasn’t like there was anything else to do in this studio apartment. Nowhere to go to escape him. I hoped we went to his house in Connecticut soon.I was sure it would have more space so we wouldn’t have to be right on top of each other.

Neither of us spoke a word the entire time. The tension was stifling, and I was waiting for him to go off about what I did. But it never came. He didn’t so much as look my way once.

About halfway into the fourth episode, my eyelids became heavy, and I jerked, trying to stay awake. Damian finally turned, glancing at me, his eyes never dipping below my face to my lingerie.

“Tired?” he drawled.

“Yes,” I answered, raising an eyebrow. “But you’re sitting on my bed.”

“You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

I straightened up. “I’m not sleeping in bed withyou.”

“You kept me up all week, tossing and turning. That’s not happening anymore.” He reached for the remote, flicking off the TV, leaving the dim bulb above the stove as the only source of light.

“Fuck off,” I ground out. “I’m staying on the couch.”

He stood up, and I had no warning before he was in front of me, leaning down to throw me over his shoulder. I let out a shriek, my palms slapping his bare back as I tried pushing myself up as he crossed the room.

“Damian,” I screamed when he tossed me on the bed.

“You took my clothes. I’m putting you in my bed.”

I gaped at him as he went back to grab the pillow and blanket, throwing it on the mattress next to me.

“I’m going to go back on the couch,” I informed him.

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