Page 92 of Savage Vows
I wake with a start, sunlight already pouring in through the curtains. I glance at the clock—shit. I haven’t slept this late in years. My body feels heavy and stiff, muscles tight from a night of restless sleep and too many thoughts.
I push out of bed and stretch my arms overhead, rolling the tension from my neck. If there’s one thing that helps, it’s movement. I throw on a T-shirt and sweats, then head out toward the private gym two floors down. It’s mine alone; nobody else in the building has the code. Thirty minutes later, sweat is running down my back and my breath comes hard, but my mind is clearer.
I take the service elevator up, towel around my neck. The kitchen is already buzzing. Liam sits at the counter, coffee in hand, and Adriana is across from him, hair pulled up, fork twirling through scrambled eggs. Liam says something, voice low and teasing, and Adriana throws her head back, laughing.
Rage flares in my chest, sudden and hot. I watch them for a moment, unseen in the doorway. She’s never laughed like that with me.
I walk into the room, footsteps heavier than I intend. Both of them look up. Adriana’s laughter fades, her eyes darting to me.Liam just gives me a lazy smile, like he’s daring me to start something.
I nod at them, jaw tight, and reach for the coffee pot, trying not to show how much it bothers me that she’s smiling for him, not for me.
Adriana doesn’t look my way, doesn’t offer a smile, doesn’t even ask if I want breakfast. She clears her own plate, pours another cup of coffee for herself, and keeps talking to Liam. I pour myself a cup in silence, watching her out of the corner of my eye, waiting for her to say something. She doesn’t.
My mood gets worse with every minute. I know it’s petty, but I can’t help it. She laughs again at something Liam says, not even glancing my way.
After a while, Liam pushes back from the counter, grabs his jacket, and stands. He glances at me, that lazy grin never leaving his face. “Don’t act like a sourpussy all day,” he says. “You’re making the kitchen colder than the fridge.”
I stare at my coffee, jaw clenched, annoyed at both of them for reasons I can’t even say out loud.
Liam doesn’t linger. He waves goodbye, throws me a knowing look, and heads out the door, leaving the apartment heavy with silence.
I thought I’d wait, let things cool off before talking to Adriana, but she doesn’t give me a chance. She clears the dishes, rinses her cup, and keeps her distance. Every time I glance her way, she’s already looking somewhere else—at her phone, at the window, at anything but me.
My patience thins with every quiet minute. I keep waiting for her to break the ice, to say something about last night or this morning, but she acts like I’m invisible. It pisses me off more than I want to admit.
I set my cup down a little harder than necessary and finally decide I’m done waiting. If she wants cold, she can have it, but I’m not letting her slip away without answers.
I can’t take the silence anymore. I cross the room in two long strides. She tries to step around me, but I catch her wrist, gentle but firm, and pull her closer until she’s just inches from my chest. The air between us crackles.
“What are you hiding from me, Adriana?” I ask, voice low, gaze searching her face.
She looks away, stubborn as always, lips pressed tight.
I lean in, her hair brushing my jaw, my grip still gentle but unyielding. I lower my mouth to her ear, speaking just above a whisper. “Or should I call you A. Voltskaya?” I murmur. “You want to keep pretending with me, or are you ready to tell the truth?”
That does it. Her eyes fly to mine, wide and startled, color draining from her cheeks. She blinks, chest rising and falling faster now.
“You know?” Her voice is barely audible, almost trembling.
I nod, my thumb brushing over her wrist, the pulse racing beneath my hand. “I know everything, Adriana. AboutThe Herald. About Serrano’s club. About the girls you’ve been tracking.” I pause, letting my words sink in, letting her feel the heat between us. “You should’ve told me.”
For a moment, we just stand there, caught in the charged space between anger and longing. I press my forehead to hers, my hand still wrapped around her wrist, refusing to let her go.
“Told you what?” she whispers, her eyes still wide, her pulse fluttering under my hand. “That I’m a reporter?”
“Were,” I correct her, my voice low. “You’re not doing that anymore.”
She tries to pull free, but I don’t let her. “You can’t stop me,” she protests, her defiance soft and shaky at the edges.
I smirk, dipping my head until my lips brush her cheek, letting her feel my breath. “I can’t?” I murmur, sliding my knee between her thighs, forcing her closer. Her breath hitches, her fingers clenching around my shirt.
She shivers, her resolve wavering as my thigh presses between her legs. Her hips shift, just slightly, and I can’t help but grin. “Tell me you’re done with this story,” I say, my voice a promise and a warning.
She tips her head back, lips parting, her resistance melting just a little under my hands. “Let go of me,” she whispers, but her tone is more breathless than angry.
“Not until you tell me the truth,” I whisper against her mouth. “Not until you admit what you’re really after.”
She’s trembling now, caught between fight and surrender. “You want the truth?” she whispers, eyes locked on mine.
