Shattered Throne: A Dark Mafia Romance: War of Roses Universe (Mice and Men Book 3) - Lana Sky (top romance novels .TXT) 📗

that searching way I noticed last night, and it takes everything in me to hold still.

I last only a heartbeat before turning away. My gaze is on the drawer again, and I have to wonder. What the hell did she read in those damn letters? Something to dampen her anger with more goddamn curiosity.

I consider ripping one open to find out. But why should I? If intimidation doesn’t sway her, I know what will.

“How many of those letters did you read?”

Her pink lips quirk downward.

“Not all of them,” I say, my suspicion confirmed. “You want to poke inside my brain, little wife? Nose into the past? Be my guest. I’ll let you.”

The witch might as well be made of glass. Nothing can disguise the flicker of interest crossing her face.

“Keep your mouth shut, and I’ll give you what you want. I’ll give you the letters. Read to your fucking heart’s content, I don’t care.”

Slowly, though, I don’t mention that part. I’ll give her pieces one at a time to stave off the inevitable.

But she’s not so easy to manipulate. Skepticism is written all across that pouty little mouth.

“Here.” I wrench open the drawer and eye the letters. She already had them sorted between the bed and the box. I’m assuming the ones she hadn’t read were still inside it. Maybe ten, if that. I grab the topmost one and present it to her on the flat of my palm. “I’m a man of my word.”

Too late, do I realize the irony of that. She doesn’t take the letter, lifting the pen instead. Her words come faster.

Why did you lie to him?

I frown, caught off guard by yet another direct question.

“Why?” I lean back in my chair, eyeing the ceiling. “You know the answer to that, little wife.”

The only one that makes sense, anyway. Nonetheless, I give her what she wants and utter the line with all the bravado it deserves. “I couldn’t face the shame.”

I look over, expecting to find her smug. Instead, she grabs that pen again.

You’re lying.

A surprised grunt rips from my throat. “Why would I lie?”

That pen remains in her grasp, her gaze turned inward as if she’s mulling it over.

Damn her.

Curiosity is unnerving on that pretty face. Alarming. If I had to guess what those letters contain, personal shit I could only say to Liv. Thoughts of her. Descriptions of her. Of us.

Maybe the little witch has a voyeur streak?

“Do you want it or not?” I raise the letter, fingering the end as though I mean to rip it in half—and I should.

I don’t realize she moves until the page starts to slip from my grasp. She wants it. So badly she forgets to disguise the desperate, hungry gleam in her eye.

Right when she almost has it freed, I snatch the letter back.

“I’ve changed my mind. Let’s talk first, before we discuss business. Get a few things squared away. Unless you want to leave?”

I expect her to run. She surprises me again by perching herself on the edge of the nearest chair. The tight line of her jaw warns she’s well aware of what I’ll ask before I even voice it.

That doesn’t mean I don’t take pleasure in doing so. “Fine. Let’s talk about last night, and why you came into my room—” Damn. The genuine curiosity leeching into my tone shouldn’t be there. “What was your intent? To seduce me in the hopes of derailing our little engagement? Did you really think it would be so easy?”

9

Willow

Did you think it would be so easy?

Smug cruelty lurks within his tone, bordering on obscene. Why did I “come” into his room last night? The obvious response is innocent on its face. I heard him having a nightmare and went to investigate.

The real answer lurks deep within that nest of emotions he alone arouses in me. Hateful fascination is one way to describe it. A need to prod. To poke. To hate everything there is to hate about Donatello Vanici and push him to his breaking point.

Lies… The voice is faint, easy to ignore at first—but ruthlessly persistent. You love proving him wrong. You crave his attention. It’s why you’re here. It’s why you’ve stayed...

My initial impulse is to deny. I don’t want a damn thing from him, though if I did…

I’ve gotten my wish. His eyes are riveted to me, piercing through flesh and bone. I have his undivided attention.

“Did you think I would ignore it?” His tone is genuinely puzzled, once again steering the conversation toward a topic I’ve spent all day suppressing. “Pretend it never happened. Live in shame? No, little principessa. My cock may react to you, but that’s as far as any attraction goes.”

His words hit their bullseye. I’m blushing; I can’t help it. Even Mischa’s guards never spoke vulgarly within earshot of the family.

Not that anyone would dare talk to me the way he does. It’s his only method of turning the tables—insulting me. Scaring me.

But he’s not the only one capable of analyzing that moment. My eyes drift shut, and I’m in his room again, on that bed…

A disorienting sensation makes me sway, like that anxious few seconds before a live performance. Still, I push through, hunting each recollection for something to use against him. Perhaps his size. My breath escapes in a rush as I recall the way his weight pinned me down. Never in my life had I felt as small as I did beneath him. So exposed. In fact, I remember feeling a distinct hardness graze my hip…

His cock reacted to me, all right.

When I open my eyes again, the pen is still in my grasp. I level it against the page before I even process what I’m writing.

Voice rasping, he recites the words as I go, switching the pronouns. “What makes me think that you could want me?”

I can almost hear the statement strike true. Bullseye. I hit my target, but at what cost?

That particular wording proposes a dangerous hypothetical. Why