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He whispers, “Good girl,” against my palm.
I turn liquid.
“Forgive me.” His kisses my pulse. “My style of rewarding isn’t as bright as yours. I prefer blunt praise to smiles, laughter, and baked goods.”
Blunt praise is so completely my drug of choice.
“Am I being horribly cruel to you, Briar?”
I wet my lips. “Yes.”
“So you feel pretty comfortable being cruel back, right?”
The swiftness with which we would wind up making out…
Clearing that thought from my head, I cross my free arm beneath my breasts. “Yes.”
“Excellent. I love you.”
All the air in my lungs evaporates.
He didn’t even pause.
But now, now the silence is stretching between us—something violent and vicious. All-consuming.
My lips part. I can find no words to say.
“I love you,” he repeats. “That means if you’re determined to leave me after tomorrow, I will let you go. But not until I’ve fought for you. If loving you leaves me mangled again, so be it. At least I know how to deal with such pain. However…given the fact you’ve yet to carve out my heart when we’re being cruel to each other…I wonder if you just want me to fight a little while longer. Maybe you like it, when people fight for you.”
I…hate it when people fight for me. My stomach knots as I come to my senses, twist my hand in his grip so I can crush my nails into his flesh, and hiss, “Do you think you’re the only one willing to fight for me, Rowan? Everyone would fight for me. Everyone would die for me. You really think you’re special for loving me? When will it get through to you that you’re just—” I can’t look at him, so I rip my attention away and choke out the words. “You’re just another one of my victims.”
In a quick motion, Rowan plunges me into the couch, gripping my hands yet again, and stretching me out across the cushions, to the armrest. “Don’t be so naive, princess.” A hollow smile softens his lips, eyes void as they peruse me. He’s the Grim Reaper. And he is so beautiful I could cry.
Why does he have to be everything I’ve ever wanted?
Cruel as ever, he runs his free hand up my side, heating the bare flesh beneath the hem of my tube top to a boil. “When people fall in love, everyone’s the victim. Not just me.”
My heart lunges for him. “What are you suggesting?”
“You’re in love with me.”
I pale. Did Chip coordinate this? Why is everyone accusing me of being in love today? “You’re crazy.”
He tuts. “Cheap gaslighting. I can prove it.”
“Adorable. Do try.”
He kisses my nose.
I free the strangled puff of a laugh. “Seduction is a piss poor basis for love, pet.”
“Not your pet, princess.” He kisses my cheek. “Also, I’m not trying to seduce you. Per chance, are you feeling seduced?”
“I’m pinned to a couch beneath a societally-attractive male specimen. As a straight female, no duh.”
“Interesting. You know how love’s a game?”
“I have heard it said.”
