He had me pinned and completely at his mercy. “You want a do-over, Violet? Is that it? You want to go back to that night and take everything back?”
Memories washed over me.
Of his taste.
Of how tender he was.
How he had tried to trick them.
And how he’d failed miserably.
“I’m not having sex with you.” I gritted my teeth. “So get that idea out of your head.”
“I never asked.” His voice was hoarse and yet tender. “You’re upset, you’re grieving, you want to pick a fight, you want to blame someone. You have to; otherwise, it doesn’t make sense, and if that needs to be me, then so be it, but killing me isn’t going to bring Breaker back from the dead, Violet. Killing only takes more of your soul away from this earth. Believe me, I know.”
“How do you know?”
He ignored my question. “Let me fix that night. Give me a do-over, and I’ll tell you.”
“Sex isn’t going to fix us. It isn’t going to bring him back either,” I whispered as his mouth came down on my neck.
His tongue was like velvet.
And then his teeth grazed my neck where his tongue had been, a small bite followed by another sent pain zinging all over my body.
Breathless, I craved more.
“I won’t make you beg,” he hissed. “But you need it. Pain cancels out pain, so let me give you both.”
“I don’t trust you.” I swallowed the lump of grief that refused to go away, heartache that just permanently set up residence in my throat. “I will never trust you.”
And as he held me there, the haze of hatred slowly lifted, the haze of confusion dissipated. Only his warm hard body pressing me into the floor existed.
And then it occurred to me why he didn’t need a weapon, his body was the weapon, and it was cutting like a just-sharpened ax as I tried to ignore my own response.
I was disgusted with myself.
What the hell was wrong with me?
Minutes ago, I had been going to kill him, and now just the feeling of him on top of me sent my body into overdrive.
The memory of his kiss.
My chest heaved as his mouth very gently met mine in a soft kiss that had me reaching for him, eyes still closed, my hands came into contact with smooth skin on his cheeks.
No scars.
And yet I still couldn’t open my eyes.
I was a coward.
Afraid to look at my future.
Afraid of the empty spot where Breaker should have been standing, afraid to admit it, to look at it.
“Violet.” His voice was deep, his accent thick. “If you need to keep fighting, I’ll be here to fight back. If rage is how you want to grieve, then rage it is—but promise me one thing.”
I trembled as one finger traced my jawline so tenderly that I wanted to cry. “What is it?”
“Give me four nights before you make any decisions, and at the end of those four nights—if you want to go back to Chicago and stay… I’ll let you.”
“Oh, you’ll let me?” I snorted, jerking my head away from him.
“Violet, we’re married, there is no getting out of that, but if you need to go, and you need me to stay… I’ll make that sacrifice.”
“What’s the catch?”
“Like I said,” he whispered in my ear, his lips tickling the flesh there. “Four nights—four nights where I’ll try my hardest to win your body and your soul as Valerian Petrov.”
I frowned. Why was he saying it like that?
He was waiting for my answer, but all I kept focusing on was the fact that I could go home. Back to what was familiar, back to the way things had been before they were broken.
“Just four nights,” I repeated. “What about the days?”
“Yours to do with as you please as long as you get out of bed, eat some food, and stop hiding weapons under your pillow.”
“You have a gun under yours.” I jutted my chin out.
“Touché,” he whispered. “But it’s not because I’m planning on going Dateline on your ass. It’s to protect you from my enemies.”
“Got a lot of those? Shocker,” I snapped.
“Well, apparently, I need to add wife to that list since she just tried to stab me in the heart. Your aim was off, by the way.”
“I still drew blood,” I pointed out.
“That you did.” He sighed. “So, do we have a deal?”
I gulped. Was I really willing to give him four nights? Four nights really wasn’t anything… And then I could go home.
Four nights, and I’d return to my family.
And bury my best friend.
“Deal, but—”
His mouth devoured my sentence, his hands dug into my hair, his tongue invaded, dominating—both promising and threatening.
And then his heat was gone.
His mouth.
His body.
“Open your eyes,” he ordered in a stern voice.
And when I did, the mask was back as if it had never come off, and his eyes were lingering on my mouth like he wanted to kiss me again.