Page 20 of Bloody Vows
"Fuck!" I growl, landing a particularly vicious combination that sends the bag swinging.
"Rough day?"
I turn to find a woman watching me from the free weights section. Either I didn’t notice her when I walked in—unlikely—or she slipped in without my noticing. She's blonde and fit, wearing workout clothes that show off her toned body to its best advantage. Her body looks tight and smooth, and I can easily imagine what it would feel like under my hands. Taut. Athletic. I could toss her into a dozen different positions and she’d go easily, aroused by the acrobatics. Fucking her would be a workout in and of itself.
She’s looking at me with obvious interest, the kind that I recognize. There are two types of women that I usually run into—the ones desperate to seduce me into putting a ring on their finger, and the ones who want to have a good time. This woman looks like the latter, and for a moment, it’s tempting. I could work out all my frustrations with her, enjoy fucking a warm, willing woman instead of my fist. It would be far more satisfying.
I don’t owe Simone fidelity. But just the thought of her sends a jolt straight to my cock, anticipation forherbuilding heat quickly in my blood. This would be uncomplicated, easy… but I can’t muster the usual interest that I typically have no trouble summoning.
"Something like that.” I reach to unwrap my hands, turning to face her. She moves closer, her smile turning flirtatious.
"I'm Jessica. I don't think I've seen you here before."
"Tristan. I'm visiting from Boston." I keep my tone neutral, not chasing her away, but not promising her anything yet, either.What the fuck is wrong with me?This woman is more than interested. I could have her in the shower in ten minutes, pressed up against the tiles, my cock hammering inside of her. Instead, I’m hesitating.
"Business or pleasure?" She smiles teasingly at me, but it does nothing. Not even a twitch.
"Both, hopefully." The words come automatically, the kind of casual flirtation I've perfected over the years. But even as I say them, they feel wrong somehow. Like I'm betraying something. It’s foolishness. Men like me aren’t loyal to their wives, not when marriages are about contracts and alliances instead of love and desire. I’m free to do what I please.
"Well, if you're looking for someone to show you around the city..." She lets the offer hang in the air, her meaning crystal clear. Her gaze trails over me, blatantly checking me out. She’s shameless, which I like in a woman. I enjoy someone who’s unafraid of their body and their desire, not a shrinking violet who wants the lights off and the bra left on.
I should say yes. I should take her up on her obvious invitation, let her distract me from thoughts of Simone, of her dark eyes and fiery retorts, and the way it felt to put my ring on her finger today. It would be easy, meaningless, exactly what I need to get my head back in the game.
But when I open my mouth to suggest that we go clean up together, the words won't come.
Suddenly, all I can think about is Simone's face when she looked at that ring. The way she called me a barbarian, like I was something primitive and dangerous that had wandered into her civilized world.
She's going to be my wife in two weeks. The mother of my children, the woman who will carry my name and share my bed.Anything else seems paltry now, in comparison. A shadow of the woman that I’m craving, who makes me feel more alive, more aroused, than I have in years.
"Actually," I say, feigning regret as I grab my towel, "I should get going. Early day tomorrow."
Jessica's face falls. She’s clearly not used to being turned down. "Are you sure? I make a very good tour guide."
"I'm sure you do. But I'm getting married in two weeks."
"Oh." She takes a step back, suddenly looking embarrassed. "Congratulations, I guess."
"Thanks."
I grab my things and head back to my room, but the encounter has left me even more unsettled than before. What the hell is wrong with me? Two days ago, I would have taken Jessica up on her offer without a second thought. I would have spent the night with her and moved on without looking back—just another pleasant distraction in a life full of them.
But now, the very thought of touching another woman feels wrong. Like cheating, even though Simone and I aren't even married yet. Even though she hates me and would probably be thrilled to know I was with someone else. She’d probably be glad if I took a mistress, if only because it would mean I wouldn’t be touchingher.
I don’t want that, though. I want her to crave me. I want her to beg for me. And I want her furious at the idea that any other woman could ever find their way into my bed. I want her to give herself to me completely.
I pour myself a drink and stand at the window after my shower, looking out at the Miami skyline. Somewhere out there, Simone is probably cursing my name and trying to figure out how to make my life as miserable as possible. The thought should concern me, but instead, it makes me smile.
Let her plot and plan and scheme,I think, taking a sip of my whiskey. Let her think she can make me regret choosing her. She has no idea what she's gotten herself into—no idea how much I'm looking forward to the challenge she represents. I've spent my entire life as the second son, the spare heir, the one who would never inherit the family business. But now I have a chance to build something of my own, something that could rival even my father's empire.
And it all starts with the dark-eyed beauty who looks at me like I’m her personal demon.
6
SIMONE
The wedding dress boutique downtown where I’ve made an appointment is exactly the kind of place I would have dreamed of shopping at for my gown under different circumstances. There are crystal chandeliers and pink velvet, endless masterpieces of craftsmanship and design—only the most exquisite dresses on offer. I’m treated like a princess from the moment I walk in the door, which is a pleasant change after the last few days.
I haven’t slept well in going on a week. Truthfully, I haven’t been able to get a decent night’s rest since Konstantin told me the truth about my father, and the addition of my engagement to Tristan has only made it worse. I look down at the ring on my hand as the boutique owner adjusts the train of the fifth dress I’ve tried on, trying not to admire it.
