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My session with him was a wasted hour of questions, which I refused to answer because I was too busy plotting his death with a growl in my throat.
They share a private smile, and I’m back to wanting to gut him.
I hope he chokes on his guilt for the rest of his miserable life.
“Right, because nothing says small and insignificant like standing on a billionaire’s yacht.”
It’s too fancy for my primitive, snow-cabin ass.
“No one can move on from you. You’re the ultimate destination.”
“Spaghetti arms.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say boring. But no one would call a Bentley boring.
“I won’t make any decisions without you.” “This is your dream, fuckwit.” He lightly slaps my cheek. “You already have my support.”
I love her madly, immeasurably, incomprehensibly, beyond the point of pain.
“If I find out you had anything to do with those messages, I’ll rip your fucking spine out and clean my teeth with your bones.” “Jesus.” She pinches his waist, making him grunt. “We’re not cannibals.” “I’m killing him the way I want.” He faces forward again, grumbling, “And I’ll die on that hill.”
“You and Kody can make some videos of you chopping wood with your shirts off. Think about it. A Viking and an Alaskan lumberjack. It would go viral and make a shitload of money.” “I don’t know what that means,” Kody mutters.
“You think I need to heal?” I laugh, and it sounds bitter and harsh. “What I need is for you to stop lusting after my wife.”
She’s mine. My wife, my soul, my reason for existing. The thought of her with anyone else, of her being harmed, ignites an inferno in my veins.
Today I’m stuck with Dr. Dipshit.
“She’s my wife,” I finally say. “It’s my job to protect her.”
“Why are you fighting so hard for your marriage?” “I love her,” I say simply.
“My love for her is not some petty jealousy.” I lean into the space between us. “It’s primal, clawing, and fucking ruthless. You get me?”
We’re a tangle of broken souls, stitched together by shared pain and longing. Longing for one another. Longing for a future full of affection. We already know what hell looks like. No more punishments are necessary.
“Fix your hair. You look like a smacked ass.” “Blow it out your dickhole, you uptight cunt,” Leo snarls. “Did you eat a bowl of dumbass for breakfast?”
Six foot-five inches of psychological warfare in a designer suit.
If I’m being honest, I’m rather fond of the arrogant asshole.
“What gives us blue balls makes us stronger.”
What are the rules about slapping a woman? Not a punch. Just a stinging, warning slap across the face?
I think I’m homesick. I don’t miss the island or Sitka or any specific place. I miss her.
I’ve learned to be wary of pretty faces and charming smiles.
“Christ.” He sighs quietly. “You’re a pain in my ass.” “Thank you.”
“In a crowd, my eyes always find you. No one else exists.”
“Don’t be daft, Monty.”
Monty Novak was a billionaire playboy with a lot of secrets and even more pride. Montgomery Strakh is a tortured soul in love, who admits his faults and fights for what he believes in. He believes in me.
“Look at you. Absolutely breathtaking.” “Breathtaking doesn’t begin to cover it,” Monty rasps. “I think she might be magic.”
He’s my comfort. My home.
“Who is that?” Rhett braces an arm on the table, leaning forward. “The bane of my existence.”
I support women. I do not pick fights with them, no matter how badly I want to grab a fistful of that black hair, throw her to the ground, and punch her face until she bleeds. Nope, I’m not doing that.
It takes me two hours to work up the nerve to open the package Monty left. If it’s a two-foot-tall, framed photo of Denver, I’ll kill him.
I want my girl back. Tonight. Kody and I trimmed our beards, cleaned up our hair, and put on our best boxer-briefs this morning. Yeah, we’re fucking hopeful.
Keep talking, you crazy fuck.
I glimpse the fear there, the plea for mercy. Gross.
Rearing back my arm, I slam my fist into his eye socket. He howls, blubbering and thrashing in the bear trap. “I didn’t like the look on your face.” I shrug. “Couldn’t help myself.”
