Necromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 6)

She pushed back her chair. “I feel bad about the guys outside. I’ll go see if they want breakfast.”

Ivan gripped her wrist before she could get up. “Sit,” he said in an oddly commanding manner. “They know how to take care of themselves.”

He hadn’t touched his food. The steaming mug of tea in front of him was still full to the brim.

She leaned back in the chair with weariness. Not able to ignore his open hostility, any longer, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

He put his hand on the table and slid it toward her. Holding her gaze, he lifted his palm slowly like a magician doing a trick. The look in his eyes was dangerous. She was so mesmerized by the promise of retribution in those pools, which she couldn’t justify since she’d done nothing wrong, that she couldn’t look away. He gave her a lazy smile while reading her carefully, like one would study someone’s reaction for clues of guilt. That smile told her more than a thousand words. Ivan was furious. He was hurt and disappointed. It made him fall back into his standard asshole macho act. It was the only time that particular smile surfaced, and she hated it. The reason for his agitated state sat on the table between them, and she already knew what it was before her gaze settled on the velvet box.

Shit. He’d found the ring while going through her bag for her pills.

His voice was hard. “Care to tell me what this is?”

“You can see what it is.”

His smile grew wider, more wicked. “Tell me, anyway.”

It hurt that he was punishing her in this way, making her admit to a crime she didn’t know she’d committed.

She put down her fork. “It’s an engagement ring.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“I was going to, but I didn’t have time.”

“You didn’t have time between letting me kiss and fuck you to tell me that you’re carrying an engagement ring in your bag?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to bed with you, but you know the effect you have on me.”

“Is that what you’re going to tell your fiancé? That you cheated on him because I was hard to resist?”

“I didn’t cheat on anyone. Henry knows we’re sleeping together, and I haven’t given him an answer, yet.”

“So, it’s the editor.” His eyes were so devoid of emotion now it scared her. “He gave you a ring, knowing I’m fucking you?” His laugh was cold. “Didn’t take him for the liberal-minded type.”

“Ivan—”

He got up so fast he almost knocked over the chair. She gasped when he grabbed her face in one hand, splaying his fingers over her cheeks. The force of his grip almost lifted her off her seat. His mouth came down on hers, not in a gentle caress, but in a hard and demanding kiss that crushed her glasses between them, bruised her lips, and made her wet.

He pulled away, a momentarily flicker of anger igniting his eyes before they went flat, again. “Can he kiss you like that?”

He let go so suddenly she uttered a cry when her backside hit the cushion. Instead of dropping the subject, he locked his hands around her waist and pulled her to her feet. He kept her in place with one hand while parting her legs with his knee and slipping his other hand inside her jeans to cup her sex. Roughly, he moved the elastic of her underwear away and pushed a finger inside. She gasped at the sudden intrusion, helpless to do anything but watch as his face grew tighter with a mixture of lust and anger.

He pulled free and cupped her chin, letting his middle finger rest on her lips. It was coated with her arousal, the proof of her instant desire.

“Can he do that?” He held her for another second before freeing her with a gentle shove. “It’s a good thing he’s liberal-minded, because if you say yes to him, he’ll have to live with the knowledge that you’ll take a lover.”

She straightened her glasses. “I won’t cheat when I’ve made a promise. I don’t break my promises, and there’s no promise more sacred than marriage.” She’d never do to her family what her mother had done to them.

“Then for both our sakes I hope you’ll say no, because I swear to God, as long as I’m alive, I’ll be the last one to fuck you.”

He stomped from the room just as the doorbell rang. She remained in the kitchen, staring at his untouched breakfast, unable to move.

The door creaked as it was being opened.

Maya’s voice sounded in the entrance. “We’re ready. Let’s go.”

She cleared the table with shaking hands, keeping her back turned to the door. She didn’t want anyone to see the tears that sprang to her eyes. If Ivan couldn’t love her, why did he want to stay? Why would he stay when, one day, her body would be too old to give him what he needed? The fixation about being her first and last was a lousy, male, territorial trait. As soon as he grew tired of her, he’d forget all about that proclaimed prophecy.