Page 66 of Wicked Proposal

I draw my face closer to my doe in the headlights. Like this, I could do anything to her.

I just might.

“I will decide when we meet, where, and how. I will decide how you dress, how you act, what you say, when you say it. If I’m displeased with any of it, I won’t hesitate to tear that pretty contract of yours to shreds.”

We’re close. Way too close. Enough to kiss or kill each other.

Right now, I can’t decide which one I want more.

“Tell me you understand.”

Mia’s eyes fill with fire again. The kind of fire that makes me want to draw closer to the flame, see how bad it can burn.

All this time, I’ve been the one burning down empires left and right.

Never have I let another’s flame touch me.

But Mia’s heat almost matches the intensity of mine.

“I’m not your property,” she says. “I’m not?—”

“Yes, you are. You aremine.Until the sun comes up six months from now, you belong to me and only me. And I won’t have you questioning me.”

“Or what?” She trembles. “You’ll hurt me?”

“No, Mia. I’ll never hurt you. I’ll never need to.” My lips graze her cheek, just shy of her quivering, open lips. “There are much easier ways to teach someone a lesson.”

She shrinks into the wall, but I don’t let her go. The fear in her eyes has a delicious undertone to it.

Mia Winters is a liar. I’ve known that from the day Maksim handed me that file on her.

No—from the day I fucking met her.

She has secrets up to her beautiful blue eyes, thick enough to drown her. She has a fake name, a fake life, and a fake notion of who she is.

Right now, she thinks she fears me.

But I know the truth.

The body doesn’t lie.

Mia’s pupils aren’t shrinking. They’re blown, black and full, wider than ever before. Her breath hitches, coming out in short little gasps that make me want to do the unspeakable to her.

I’m hard as a fucking rock, but like hell am I gonna let her notice.

Rule number one of power plays: Never let your opponent know how much they have over you.

And Mia, as loathe as I am to admit it, has done quite a number on certain parts of me.

When I speak next, I mask my desire. Instead, I fill my voice with implied violence. “Tell me you understand,kotyonok.”

She’s panting now, her breasts brushing against my chest with her every breath. I know she feels it, too—the heat pooling between us, the circle of gasoline around our bodies.

One spark, and it’ll catch.

“I understand,” she whispers.

Only then do I let her go.