Page 34 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

BIANCA

THIS IS NOT A SURRENDER

I refuse to sit on the bed. It’s too wide. Too sleek. And too obviously designed for seduction and bad decisions.

Instead, I plant myself in one of the oversized leather chairs near the bar, legs crossed, a glass of water in hand like it’s armor.

Vukan lounges across from me with infuriating ease—shirt unbuttoned just enough to show skin I am not staring at.

“You know the seat reclines,” he says, sipping his bourbon like we’re at some goddamn lounge and not flying straight into emotional warfare. “There’s a bedroom. You can have it.”

“I know what happens when people get comfortable,” I reply.

His lips twitch. “Afraid I’ll take advantage of you?”

“Afraid I’ll let you?”

He laughs—low, husky, and completely unbothered.

“I’d rather you come to me willingly.”

“And miss the chance to see me kick you in the throat? Where’s the fun in that?”

His eyes twinkle with that, and he leans back, expression unreadable. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Good,” I say, tilting my glass. “Then maybe you’ll give up now and cancel the next three dates.”

“Not a chance,” he says.

I roll my eyes and glance at the window. All I see is an endless sky and a horizon that feels too quiet.

The air inside the jet feels warmer than it should.

He doesn’t speak again. He just watches me. But the longer the silence stretches, the more it feels like I’m losing a game I didn’t agree to play.

The chair is soft. Too soft. I shift. Sip.

Shift again. God, I’m tired. Not just from the flight, but from keeping the walls up, the claws out, and the facade that I’m still on guard because I can’t let him see me.

The real me, the side of me that’s vulnerable and is catching feelings for him. And my eyelids are becoming so heavy .

Vukan

I don’t push her further. I sit and watch her try not to yawn. I sit back, let the quiet roll in, and watch her fight it. Her head drops forward, and she jerks it back, walking herself up. But eventually—finally—her head rests against the seat.

But now her chin dips lower, and her toned arms slowly give up the fight. Her breathing shifts, and she’s asleep.

At first, I remain still, just watching. Because I’ve never seen her completely unarmored, she doesn’t know it, but this is the first time she’s let me see her defenseless.

She trusts the air between us enough to drift off. That’s not seduction. That’s surrender. And it undoes me. I’m ruined. She’s captivated by me in a way no one else ever has or ever will. I’ve seen her wounds, her joy, and her fears, and I’m not running.

I think I’m falling for my little warrior.

Just as the thought comes to me, her lips part just slightly. She murmurs something too soft to make out—a faint smudge of drool forms at the corner of her mouth.

She’s drooling, and it’s adorable. And God help me—I smile.

Even perfect things crack a little.

I set my drink down and slowly stand. I walk to her, kneel beside the chair, and brush her hair back gently, tucking it behind her ear.

She doesn’t stir. She looks so small like this. Small and fragile in a way I know she’d claw me for even thinking that she’s breakable , or vulnerable.

But she’s mine. And against my better judgment, I lift her.

With one arm under her legs and one at her back, she’s light in my arms. She doesn’t wake, and I’m shocked when she folds into me instinctively, like her body knows it’s me and she’s safe in my arms. She knows I won’t hurt her.

I carry her to the bed and lay her down carefully before pulling the blanket over her. I adjust the pillow, making sure I don’t touch her skin, because she hasn’t given me permission.

Not yet.

And when she does, I’ll be ruined. It will happen, but not like this, not at 30,000 feet in the air. No, I’ll wait until we’re together for the first time to consummate whatever this is between us. I want her awake and begging.

I signal to my flight attendant.

“Gently,” I say. “Just take off her shoes. Leave everything else. Otherwise, she’ll wake up swinging.”

The attendant nods like she’s seen this before. But she hasn’t, because most women in our circles like pampering and being treated like royalty.

When the task is completed, I stand there a minute longer, staring at Bianca.

She’s the fire, the sharp-tongued, and beautiful even when her mascara’s smudged, woman with a heart of gold.

She’s a woman who is also fierce, a woman who punched me with intent and didn’t hurt me as much as she could have.

But mostly, she’s the woman who set a ten-date trap like I’d never seen war before.

And now she sleeps on my plane, in my bed, without a single gun in reach.

She doesn’t even realize that she already gave me more in this moment than she has with any of her words.

And I’m the one falling, not for her body and not for the game.

They are both incredible and intriguing, but that’s to be expected.

No, she has me tripping over the fact that she gave me her silence without knowing it.

A silence that speaks a thousand words, a silence we shared comfortably.

Bianca is a spitfire, a strategist, and a consummate saboteur of my sanity. She’s been fighting me since the moment we met. Sure, she’d like to think she hates me, the once enemy, and all that. But what she’s discovered is the reality that I might win.

And her thinking would be correct, but what she doesn’t know is that she’s winning too, because I’m already losing to her in ways I never meant to.

I pull out the sofa bed in the living room. But my hard cock keeps me up, along with the realization that I’m losing my heart and soul to this woman. How can she be so close, and yet so far away? It’s a paradox I must solve if I want my happy ending.

Bianca

Sometime later…I wake up with my cheek pressed to something warm. Soft. And then I become conscious. No! Oh, hell now.

My throat is dry. My hair is sticking to one side. There’s— Oh God.

There’s a line of drool on my arm.

I wipe it with the kind of feral embarrassment reserved for middle school nightmares. The room is dimmer now. I’m no longer in the chair.

I’m—I whip the blanket off. The bed. No. I look around in a panic and find him standing near the cabin door, watching me.

His shirt sleeves are rolled up now, jaw shadowed with stubble, and his mouth curves when he sees the dawning horror on my face.

“Before you accuse me of violating your personal space,” he says smoothly, “you drooled.”

I blink. “You carried me.”

“You slumped like a dead thing halfway through turbulence.”

“I was resting my eyes. ”

“You were snoring.”

My entire body ignites in one flush of humiliation.

“And the bed?” I snap.

“I wasn’t going to let you crumple your spine on one of my chairs. I may be dangerous, but I have standards.”

I glance around. “Who—who undressed me?”

He shrugs. “My flight attendant.”

My mouth drops open.

“She’s trained,” he adds. “Discreet. She used to work for a Saudi prince who collected wives and Ferraris.”

“ Vukan! ”

“I had her keep your blouse on,” he says, calm as ever. “And no, she didn’t seem phased. See the knife tucked in your heel? You’re not as subtle as you think.”

I cover my face with both hands as he walks over and sets a glass of water by the bed.

“For the record,” he murmurs, “you looked beautiful.”

I lower my hands just enough to glare at him. “If you ever mention the drool again, I’ll smother you in your sleep.”

He smirks. “I’ve had worse threats from ex-girlfriends.”

“I’m not your girlfriend. ”

He leans in—close enough that I feel his breath along my jaw.

“No,” he says, voice like smoke. “You’re something far more important.” Then he walks away.

And damn it… Dropping a bomb would leave less carnage. And again, I’m watching him go, and yes, I’m staring at his gorgeous ass, because when he walks? It’s magnificent to watch. He knows how to make his presence known without a word.

I’m drooling again because he’s sexy as fuck, but this time, my eyes are wide open.

Damn Joanne.

How did she know?