Page 60 of Bride of Vengeance

The words hit like ice water. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't reduce me to just that. I'm more than just a vessel for your baby."

His hand tightens on my thigh. "I know that."

"Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, you found out I'm pregnant and immediately went full caveman. 'My woman, my baby, mine.' Like I'm property."

"You're carrying my child—"

"I'm carrying a bundle of cells that might become a child. And that doesn't mean you own me."

He pulls into the underground garage of his building with more force than necessary. We don't speak in the elevator. The tension is suffocating, electric, dangerous.

The moment we're inside his house, I explode.

"I can't do this."

"Do what?"

"Sit on the sidelines while you handle everything. Be the protected little woman carrying your heir while you fight Harrison and clear our names."

"You're pregnant—"

"I'm barely pregnant! I'm not an invalid!"

"You collapsed this morning!"

"From exhaustion, not pregnancy! The doctor said so!"

"And what happens next time? When Harrison's men come for you? When bullets start flying?" He's in my space now, backing me against the kitchen island. "What happens when I have to choose between stopping Harrison and protecting you?"

"You don't have to protect me!"

"Yes, I do!" The words come out raw, desperate. "Don't you understand? You're everything. You and that baby are the only things that matter now."

"That's not fair—"

"Fair?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Nothing about this is fair. It's not fair that I've loved you for two years without being able to touch you. It's not fair that we finally found each other in the middle of this chaos and now you're pregnant when we're being hunted by the federal government."

"Then let me help! Let me fight!"

"No."

"You don't get to tell me no!"

"I just did."

"Fuck you."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" His voice drops to that dangerous register that makes me shiver. "You'd like me to fuck the fight right out of you."

"That's not—"

He kisses me hard, swallowing my protest. It's nothing like last night's tenderness. This is claiming, possessive, overwhelming. His hands are everywhere—my hair, my throat, my hips—pulling me against him like he's trying to merge us into one person.

"Stop," I gasp when he lets me breathe.