Page 61 of His Forced Bride
But I'm too angry to analyze it because if I let myself relax from that angry stance, I might crumble and let him actually touch me.
"Better dead than caged," I snip, and he clicks his tongue.
"You don't mean that."
"Don't I?"
My fingers twitch, my chest growing tight.
"At least the dead don't have to watch their life's work turn to ash while they sit in pretty rooms doing nothing."
The menacing way he leans over me is too much, too close to be comfortable.
I reach up and slap him hard, and he chuckles.
Actually fucking laughs at me.
Every muscle in my body tightens, coiled to strike, and the smirk disappears from his face.
His hands capture my wrists, pinning them behind my back as he presses me against the desk.
The edge digs into my thighs, and I can feel every line of his body through the thin fabric of my dress.
"Let go," I hiss.
"No," he growls, and I know there's no way I will ever be able to free myself.
I struggle against his grip, but he's immovable.
"You can't keep me locked up forever."
"Can't I?"
His mouth hovers inches from mine, his breathing steady while mine comes in short, angry bursts.
He's too strong to fight.
Too powerful to manipulate.
Too dangerous to run from.
And my body is melting at the idea of how thoroughly he satisfied me the last time I spat in his face.
My mind yo-yos, wrestling between the urge to bite him and the need swelling between my legs.
"I hate you," I snarl.
"I know."
"I'll never stop fighting this."
"Good."
His grip on my wrists tightens.
"I don't want you broken. I like feisty Inessa Gravitch."
His words make fire race through my veins.
