Page 24 of His Savage Vow
Maximo closes his laptop and stands, walking slowly around the table. Every step is measured, deliberate. A proud predator, stalking me in plain sight.
“I’ve never lied to you, have I?”
“How would I know if you had?” I retort.
Maximo’s dark eyes narrow. “What do you see when you look at me, Constance?”
My throat goes dry at his question; his intensity focused solely on me. Still, I lift my chin, meeting his stare head-on, daring him, tempting him, knowing full well that every barb I throw is just me trying to hold the line I already crossed days ago. “I see a man who got my father killed.”
I swear he ever so slightly flinches before he nods. “What else?”
Fuck. He’s going to make me say it.
“A man who feels guilty and wants to own his failures.”
Maximo takes another step closer. The edge of the table digs into his thighs, momentarily drawing my eyes to the crotch of his pants. “That’s also true.”
“You think taking care of me will somehow make amends for failing my father.”
A muscle jumps in his cheek, but he doesn’t deny it.
“I don’t want to be another responsibility you shoulder because it makes you feel better,” I tell him.
Maximo leans over, planting both of his palms on the table in front of me, his darkening eyes locked on mine. “That’s not what this is between us, and you fucking know it,” he replies.
“Then tell me what it is,” I challenge, refusing to look away.
“I want you.” His voice roughens. “And it hasnothingto do with my guilt that you can’t go a goddamn hour without throwing in my face.”
Silence follows his declaration that leaves me breathless.
I should get up and walk away. I should remind him what this is. Vengeance. A partnership born from my father’s murder and necessity. Not...whatever this growing heat is. It started as a pressure low in my belly days ago, but now I feel it yearning in my chest, down my arms, practically crackling from my fingertips.
I should set boundaries with Maximo now, let him know that I’m just here to find my father’s killer.
“I think you want me too, firefly,” he says softly, using that damn term of endearment before his hand lifts slowly, brushing a piece of hair from my cheek. It’s not a possessive move, and it’s not even seductive.
It’s worse, it’s…tender.
God help me.
How can one gentle touch from him melt every place inside me I swore was frozen?
I lean into it, just a fraction. It’s enough. Maximo cups my jaw, pulling me up from my chair. His lips crash against mine, sealing the two of us together like a vow.
I should push him away. Remind him, both of us, why I’m here. That whatever is spiraling between us is a mistake waiting to happen.
But I also stupidly want to see him lose control because of me. To watch the arrogant bastard want something he can’t have. To see if he’ll get on his knees for me...
So, I kiss him back. For now.
It isn’t a rushed kiss. It isn’t even hungry. It’s reverent, and it destroys me.
Because it soon begins to feel like surrender.
I didn’t come here for this, but I desperately need it. After all the grief and fury of the last few weeks, I need the comfort of his touch.
My hands slide up his chest, curling into Maximo’s shirt. He moves around the table without breaking our kiss, pulling me to him slowly, like he’s giving me time to run. When I don’t, he deepens the kiss, pressing our bodies together, his hand anchoring at my waist to keep me there.
