I nearly snarled. “Why do you give a shit about my love life?”
“Because I’m curious.” His grip relaxed. One hand moved up my arm, along the back of my neck, and into my hair. He grabbed it tight and pulled.
I gasped in surprise but struggled to keep my eyes on his. “Fighting your own battles now.”
“You’re trying to test me. I know what you’re doing, but it won’t work. You can push all you want, but you’re not in control here.”
“Tell that to the hand in my hair.” I smiled as if this was exactly what I wanted.
Except this wasn’t. Not even close.
I wanted to piss him off. That was true. I wanted to knock him off balance to see if I could get him to do something interesting or to make a mistake.
I didn’t want him this close. I didn’t want his hand in my hair or on my arm.
His smell wafted all around. His gorgeous lips parted.
I didn’t want this feeling buzzing down between my legs.
Equal parts hate, fear, and desire.
It was disgusting. Reprehensible.
I wanted him to pull my hair tighter.
As if he could read my mind, he gave me what I wanted.
I gasped in pain.
“Keep playing games,” he whispered. “Go ahead. I like to play. I think you’ll find that I’m the perfect partner.”
“Take the bracelet off.”
“No.”
“I’m not a dog.”
“But you are my pet, little love.”
I slammed my knee forward, aiming for his crotch.
It was stupid. I’ll admit it. I shouldn’t have resorted to trying to physically hurt him. That wouldn’t end well, and I knew it.
But as soon as he called me his pet, I saw red.
I wasn’t exactly a cool, calm, and collected sort of person.
My knee barely missed. He twisted as if he expected my attack. I smashed into his hip, then struggled forward, but the hand in my hair ripped me back and the other arm shoved across my chest, pinning me against the bookshelf. The wood dug into my spine as I snarled at him.
“Don’t you ever call me that again.”
He smiled, eyes sparkling. “Which do you hate more? Spring or pet? I think I’ll call you both.”
“You asshole.”
“Keep fighting. Come on. Fight harder.”
His arm on my chest moved as his hand palmed my breast.
I sucked in a sharp breath. Time paused.
My nipples were hard. I knew he felt it. He knew I was excited, riled up.
But this was a step too far.
I threw myself at him. “Don’t touch me.” I tried to hit him, slap him. He caught my wrists and turned me from the bookshelf, then held me down against an overstuffed easy chair.
I was breathing hard, raging and wild. He grinned down at me, his hair messy from my attack, at least one long scratch down his cheek where my nails had bitten into his perfect face.
He loved it. And the way his body controlled me sent a dizzying, confusing mix of revulsion and need through my guts.
“Are you done?” he asked. “Or do you want to fight more? I’d enjoy making you submit, love.”
“Get off me.” I said the words as calmly as I could.
Maybe that was all he was waiting for. Maybe he had to get back to his meeting. I didn’t know why, but he released me and stepped back.
I sat breathing hard and trying to compose myself.
He’d touched my breast. He’d felt my hard nipple through my thin shirt and my bikini top, and I’d fucking liked it.
I’d liked the rough hand in my hair, the masculine smell of him, his massive arms and domineering smirk.
It was fucked up and raw and every inch of my skin tingled with desire.
I wanted to wrap my legs around his hips and ride him until sweat poured down my back.
Which only made me hate him more.
“The bracelet is too far.” I stood up and straightened my clothes. I was a rumpled mess, and my dignity was long gone, but I still wouldn’t let him win. “I’m not going to wear it.”
“I’ll speak with my mother and see if we can’t come up with an alternative.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “Now, I have the heads of four mafia families waiting for me. Am I dismissed? Or do you want to attack me again?”
“I attacked you only because you grabbed my breast.”
“Purely on accident. Although I’ll admit, I think you liked it.”
I held back. “Asshole. Enjoy your little meeting.” Then stormed out of the room.
I lingered in the hall, seething.
That bastard. He was supposed to be the one all riled up and tossed around like a ship in a storm.
So why was I barely keeping myself together?
I heard someone clear her throat nearby. Chika stood with her hands clasped. “Right this way whenever you’re ready,” she said.
I didn’t speak, only followed her back up the steps, down a series of halls, and into my room.