My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(92)

“I meant during the daytime.”

“And what of the pesky thing that is my work?”

“So, take me to work.”

“No, thank you.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“I wasn’t offering.” There was a pause. He used it to exhale, so as not to strangle me. “Not today. There’s an arms demo, and I’m required to be there. It’s dangerous.”

“I like danger.”

“And I like you in one piece.” As an afterthought, he added, “As one of my most expensive possessions, of course. You cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to maintain. Per month.”

“I’m coming to work with you today.”

“No.”

I pouted, rolling a lock of hair around my finger. “You know what happens when I’m bored.”

I was, of course, being deliberately petulant, knowing it ground his gear.

My reflection shined through his dead shark eyes. In it, the past several months played out. The amount of crap we’d put each other through.

Ultimately, though, Romeo never feared my bad behavior. And this time, his intentions flashed across his forehead.

A concession for a concession.

What a foolish thought.

Naturally, I hoped he continued thinking it.

We stalled at an impasse.

Finally, he stood, checking his Rolex. “I’ll send Jared to pick you up at noon. The demo takes place on a tarmac outdoors. Expect wind, chill, mud, and a healthy dose of discomfort. Don’t wear anything to attract attention, including and especially high heels. While there, you will not leave my side, you will not wander around, and you will not do anything that is not in the instruction manual I’ll email you after I leave.”

“Okay, Zaddy,” I purred.

“If you behave, which I greatly doubt, we could go for a late lunch afterward. Do not make me regret this, Shortbread.”

I shot up, punching the air. “I won’t!”

He shook his head, draped his blazer over his forearm, and strode out. Could’ve sworn I heard him mutter, “I already am.”





Maybe Romeo needed to better define what an outfit that doesn’t attract attention meant.

Because when I sashayed from the Maybach through the endless tarmac, he did not look impressed.

And by not impressed, what I meant was, he’d gladly shove me off a cliff should one zip within his line of sight.

It marked the first time I’d seen fire in his eyes, and that fire wished to burn me to death.

If you asked me, there was nothing wrong with my strappy black mini dress. The tiny patches of sheer nylon that covered my modesty could only be described as high fashion.

I wore five-inch Louboutin boots to complete the look—and so Romeo wouldn’t tower over me completely. The patent leather stretched up my legs, cutting off midway at my thighs.

Nestled in the outskirts of Alexandria, dozens of uniformed men milled around the asphalt, where a house-sized Humvee had parked. And all of them were looking at me, mouths ajar, eyes glazed over.

I swung my hips as I cat-walked to my husband, his father, and his nemesis. They stood beside a helicopter with noise-canceling earmuffs, eyes pinned to me.

I supposed I’d achieved my goal of reminding Romeo how desired his wife was, considering every man I passed undressed me with his eyes.

The sunny smile on my face only hardened Romeo’s glare. He tore his muffs off, shoving them into Cara’s hands.

Senior studied my cleavage like he’d lost his car keys inside it. Beside him, Bruce looked ready to volunteer as tribute and dig for them.

The helicopter’s blades whisked air around us.

Still, I heard Senior crystal-clear through the roar. “What is she doing?”

“Making sure I lock her in a cell until she hits menopause.” Romeo had already started for me, even outpacing the wind dancing between us.

We met halfway on the runway. My skin blossomed with awareness, knowing we held every eye in a one-mile radius.

“Hey, hubs.” I laced my arms around his neck, rising in my heels to give him a kiss.

His mouth was cold and unresponsive as it covered my lips. I darted my tongue across the seam then sucked the lower one into my mouth.

He refused to budge. “You look like a slut.”

The word cut off my air supply, rendering me dizzy. I lost my balance, almost tripping if it weren’t for his hand on my back.

He’d never called me that before.

Not even when I’d thrust my genitals in his face, demanding to be satisfied, which occurred daily.

The Romeo I knew did not view sexually liberated women as sinful. Something had triggered him.

Or maybe you are trying to excuse his toxic masculinity.

His expression remained as hard and unrelenting as his shoulders. “That was your intention, was it not?”

I hated that my argument died before it could gestate, grow limbs, and strangle him to death. To be fair, I’d seen pornstars screwed in lingerie with more fabric than my dress.

If the wind blew the wrong way, every man in the vicinity would enjoy an open view of my breasts.

And there was a lot of men in the vicinity.

Plenty of wind, too.

“Fine. If you want me to treat you like one, congratulations. I’ll let you be my little slut.”