His eyes flared at my accidental admission.
I loved him.
We both knew it, but neither of us had said it aloud until now.
The tension between us shifted, charging the air with something beyond anger.
"No, not with this," he said, with deadly calm. "You don't get to bide your time so you can weigh your options with other men."
Other men? Who said anything about other men?
This man was infuriating.
For a moment, I saw us as we could be, partners, equals, building something together instead of this constant battle for control. I wanted that future with a fierceness that scared me. But it couldn't happen if he insisted on making all the decisions.
My legs ached from pacing quick circles around the room, but I was too angry to stand still. The blood was rushing through my veins, every nerve ending hypersensitive.
It took far more strength than I should have needed to stop myself from throwing something at him. I would have probably given in to the temptation if we didn't have an audience.
If I escalated this fight, with or without Pavel here, it would only end one way.
If I let this fight get physical, we'd end up in bed, still arguing about the same points.
But my head would be hazy with hormones, and I would want to give in to him.
And God help me, the thought was tempting enough I almost reached for the nearest breakable object.
"Maybe you two should compromise," Pavel said as if on cue.
Both of us turned on his brother, our irritation uniting against a common enemy. His eyes widened as if he knew what he had done, and he looked around the room, refusing to make eye contact.
"Pavel, I swear to God—" Artem started, the muscles in his back rippling as he tensed.
"Why are you even here?" I finished, equally annoyed at the interruption.
"Because we all know that you two fight and then fuck," Pavel said bluntly, raising an eyebrow. "And Mikhail says Artem needs to heal more before that happens, so I'm chaperoning." He gave us a cheesy smile. "And I heard you yelling, and I was a little worried she was going to finish what Solovyov failed to do."
My cheeks burned at his crude assessment of our relationship, but I couldn't exactly deny it.
"See," I said, pointing at Pavel, deciding to use his obnoxious presence to my advantage. "Do you really want to not consummate our marriage on our wedding night?"
I planted my hands on my hips and looked at Artem like I had won.
A challenge sparked in his eyes, and I should have known better.
For a fleeting moment, I saw understanding in his gaze—a recognition of what this meant to me, what I was fighting for. Something in his expression softened, and I thought maybe, just maybe, he was finally hearing me.
But then his expression changed, hardened with determined.
This was the man who had faced down intruders in his home, who had taken bullets rather than surrender.
He wasn't going to back down now.
Artem's gaze raked down my body, hot and possessive, stirring tingles all over my skin.
Without warning, he closed the distance between us, his broad hand splaying across my lower back as he hoisted me over his good shoulder in one fluid motion.
"Stop! You'll tear your stitches!" I gasped, suddenly far too aware of his warm palm against the bare skin where my shirt had ridden up.
