Rough Exile

“I miss civilization,” Bron growled. “I miss…”

I waited for him to finish his statement, but he didn’t.

“You miss what?”

“I had a life there—not like here.”

“And is that life still there waiting for you? Are you going to call up your ex-wife as soon as we get there? Hook up for old time’s sake?” Jealousy twisted.

Why was I feeling so…aggressive?

I had no claim to him and no right to be jealous. I liked them both too much for a woman who was getting paid to have sex with them. Lines were so blurred I wasn’t sure if there’d ever been lines in the first place. Meanwhile, all I was to them was their stunt cunt.

“No.” He laughed. “Even if she would have me back and didn’t have four snotty children with my cousin, her idea of adventurous sex was wearing pretty underwear to bed and shutting off the light. If my cousin didn’t put a bullet in my skull for trying to lure her away, I would die of boredom.”

“Oh.” A bit of my tension eased. “So, what life are you missing?”

He fussed with some of the goats, who were trying to pilfer snacks out of his pockets.

“I don’t know.” He sounded exasperated rather than angry. “What do you want me to say? You don’t understand what this is like for me. This is my job. I shouldn’t want to stay here any more than you. Do you consider this island home? Of course not.”

“You have a life here with Ilya.”

“You have, too, but don’t you have aspirations other than crawling around weeding the garden, and spreading your legs for men whenever they have a hard prick?”

A flash of anger caught me off guard. It was probably embarrassment in an ugly coat. “What else am I supposed to want?”

“To go to school? Weren’t you doing this to get yourself a scholarship? And what about love? Don’t all women want love—a partner? Maybe some snotty brats of your own?”

“I don’t even know what I want to do,” I admitted sheepishly. “Maybe I’ll use the money to start a small business instead, but I’m not good at anything.”

“You’re good at taking it up the ass.”

I blew out an exasperated breath. “Why are you such a fucking jerk?”

“Why do you want a man who’s a fucking jerk? Do jerks make your pussy wet?” He grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back, using the pain to hold me against him.

“I don’t want you.”

“You always want me.”

It wasn’t a lie, but sometimes the truth sucked. “Maybe I don’t always hate you.”

He tsked. “Are you falling in love with me, De-li-lah? Do you love this island and its men?”

I drew a shaky breath. Although I wanted to deny it and save face, admitting it was true was braver and possibly necessary at this point. We were going to Vas’s the day after tomorrow, and I might lose my chance or my nerve. What if we got there, and they got permission to stay with Vas? Everything would change.

“So what if I do?”

The lack of light felt like it had given him harder edges. His breath caressed my face. “What are you hoping to get from me with this adorable declaration?”

He sounded strange. Amused? Was he laughing at me? Of course, he was.

What had I been thinking?

I tried to headbutt him, but my forehead hit his chest.

“Are you going to weep now and declare your love for me?” His tone was sharp, caustic. “Why aren’t you inside, using your wiles to lure Ilya away from me as you always do?”

“That’s not what I’ve been doing!” I protested.

He yanked my arm higher behind my back, and I cried out in pain and stood on my toes, trying to ease the pressure.

“Lies. You tempt men wherever you go, and now he rolls around in bed thinking of this body.” Bron pressed me against him, my breasts mashed against his unforgiving chest. He leaned in, burying his face in my hair, his mouth next to my ear. “This siren’s face and the voice that makes him lie awake at night and think of his name in your pretty mouth.”

He groaned, and I realized he was hard.

What?

His lips came down on mine, ruthless and demanding. He took what he wanted, not waiting for me to reciprocate, plundering my mouth and turning my bones to water. I let him kiss me, not trying to escape, even though his grip on my arm fell away. I curled my fingers into his shirt and kissed him back, barely registering the goats and their curiosity.

The kiss turned sensual—mingled breaths and the sliding of tongues. I twined my arms around his neck and stretched up the length of him, running my fingers through his long hair.

“Why are you so angry with me?” I asked when we stopped, panting. His arms had slowly crept around me, and he hadn’t let me go.

“You’re going to be Ilya’s wife.” He swallowed, but his eyes were in shadow and unreadable.

“We’re fake engaged. It’s not real.”