that word in reference to him makes me sicker.
“I will be. And it’s going to happen this summer. So get your pretty little head around that fact.”
He reaches for me again, his hand closing around my arm. I’m already a little sore there where his fingers bit into me before, and they bite in again, right into the same spots. I’d threaten to tell Pop he’s hurting me, but the sad part is Pop won’t care. He’d approve, even. Carmine jerks me closer to him, my chest pressing against his. “I don’t think you understand how this works. You’re promised to me. I own you.”
“Not yet.” My voice is shaking a little, and I hate that. Just the implication that he will own me someday makes my hands tremble. I want to add “not ever,” but again, I don’t want to make him any angrier.
He laughs, and then he kisses me. His mouth is hard and insistent. I want to bite him. I could say the hard kisses remind me of the way Cain is rough with me, but they don’t. It’s a completely different thing. The kind of dominance Carmine’s trying to assert here is repulsive to me. Cain’s is…something entirely else.
I jerk my head back and barely restrain the urge to slap him. “Take me home.”
“I’m not done with this party.”
“Then I’ll call a cab.”
“Like hell you will.” He jerks me by my hand back against him and bends his head so his mouth is against my ear. “You need to learn to obey. I get my ring on your finger, and you’d best do as you’re told.” He bites my earlobe. “The things I’ll do to you…” The chuckle is as repulsive as everything else about him. “Ah, I can’t wait.”
To my horror, I feel a hot tear slide down my cheek. He sees it and his grin widens. With a thumb, he shoves the drop off my skin. “You’ll be a fun one to break.”
I take a sharp breath; it’s as much as I can manage. “I’m going home.”
“You’re not—”
But I jerk free and start quickly away from him, counting on his not wanting to create a sideshow in the middle of his precious party. The bet pays off, and I make my way outside. There’s a cab waiting—I’m sure somebody else called it, but I get inside anyway and tell the driver to take me home.
#
The front hallway is dark, and for a few minutes I think maybe I’m actually going to be able to make it to my room without seeing anyone.
No such luck. Trying to slip past the living room, I hear Pop’s voice.
“Carmine called. He said you left him at the party. What do you think you’re doing, young lady?”
I stop. I consider just turning my back on him and stalking the rest of the way to my room. Because what the hell kind of way is that to talk to a grown woman? It’s not like I’m sixteen years old and sneaking in after curfew. No, this is bullshit. So I turn and stare him down.
He’s in the living room, pushing out of his favorite chair, where he’s been sitting reading the newspaper. He does not look happy. I toss my head a little and answer him. “I wasn’t feeling well. He didn’t want to leave, so I just caught a cab.”
“That’s no way to treat your future husband.” He folds his hands in front of himself, the paper dangling limply from between two fingers. “You don’t just abandon a man like that.”
I barely manage not to roll my eyes. “He’s a big boy. I’m sure he figured out how to take care of himself.”
He’s silent a moment. Then he speaks again, very slowly. “It’s a matter of respect, Jessica. And I expect you to show respect to your fiancé.”
“He didn’t need me there. And I have a headache, and I just want to go to bed. Is that a problem?” My face has gone hot with rage.
He doesn’t answer my question directly. Instead he shifts his posture, using one arm to gesture toward an empty chair in the living room. “Why don’t you come in and sit down. Let’s have a talk.”
“Pop, I don’t—”
“Come in. Sit.” His tone isn’t sharp, but there’s a look in his
“I will be. And it’s going to happen this summer. So get your pretty little head around that fact.”
He reaches for me again, his hand closing around my arm. I’m already a little sore there where his fingers bit into me before, and they bite in again, right into the same spots. I’d threaten to tell Pop he’s hurting me, but the sad part is Pop won’t care. He’d approve, even. Carmine jerks me closer to him, my chest pressing against his. “I don’t think you understand how this works. You’re promised to me. I own you.”
“Not yet.” My voice is shaking a little, and I hate that. Just the implication that he will own me someday makes my hands tremble. I want to add “not ever,” but again, I don’t want to make him any angrier.
He laughs, and then he kisses me. His mouth is hard and insistent. I want to bite him. I could say the hard kisses remind me of the way Cain is rough with me, but they don’t. It’s a completely different thing. The kind of dominance Carmine’s trying to assert here is repulsive to me. Cain’s is…something entirely else.
I jerk my head back and barely restrain the urge to slap him. “Take me home.”
“I’m not done with this party.”
“Then I’ll call a cab.”
“Like hell you will.” He jerks me by my hand back against him and bends his head so his mouth is against my ear. “You need to learn to obey. I get my ring on your finger, and you’d best do as you’re told.” He bites my earlobe. “The things I’ll do to you…” The chuckle is as repulsive as everything else about him. “Ah, I can’t wait.”
To my horror, I feel a hot tear slide down my cheek. He sees it and his grin widens. With a thumb, he shoves the drop off my skin. “You’ll be a fun one to break.”
I take a sharp breath; it’s as much as I can manage. “I’m going home.”
“You’re not—”
But I jerk free and start quickly away from him, counting on his not wanting to create a sideshow in the middle of his precious party. The bet pays off, and I make my way outside. There’s a cab waiting—I’m sure somebody else called it, but I get inside anyway and tell the driver to take me home.
#
The front hallway is dark, and for a few minutes I think maybe I’m actually going to be able to make it to my room without seeing anyone.
No such luck. Trying to slip past the living room, I hear Pop’s voice.
“Carmine called. He said you left him at the party. What do you think you’re doing, young lady?”
I stop. I consider just turning my back on him and stalking the rest of the way to my room. Because what the hell kind of way is that to talk to a grown woman? It’s not like I’m sixteen years old and sneaking in after curfew. No, this is bullshit. So I turn and stare him down.
He’s in the living room, pushing out of his favorite chair, where he’s been sitting reading the newspaper. He does not look happy. I toss my head a little and answer him. “I wasn’t feeling well. He didn’t want to leave, so I just caught a cab.”
“That’s no way to treat your future husband.” He folds his hands in front of himself, the paper dangling limply from between two fingers. “You don’t just abandon a man like that.”
I barely manage not to roll my eyes. “He’s a big boy. I’m sure he figured out how to take care of himself.”
He’s silent a moment. Then he speaks again, very slowly. “It’s a matter of respect, Jessica. And I expect you to show respect to your fiancé.”
“He didn’t need me there. And I have a headache, and I just want to go to bed. Is that a problem?” My face has gone hot with rage.
He doesn’t answer my question directly. Instead he shifts his posture, using one arm to gesture toward an empty chair in the living room. “Why don’t you come in and sit down. Let’s have a talk.”
“Pop, I don’t—”
“Come in. Sit.” His tone isn’t sharp, but there’s a look in his
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