"This is insane," she whispered, but her body was betraying her again. I could see the way her nipples had hardened beneath her blouse, the way her breathing had become shallow and quick.
"Is it? Or is it exactly what you’ve been wanting for months? Be honest with yourself, if not with me. You didn’t send that text to Jeremy by accident. You sent it to me because some part of you knew exactly what would happen."
She opened her mouth to deny it, but I pressed closer, caging her against the door with my body. The scent of her arousal mixed with her perfume was driving me crazy, making it hard to think about anything except getting her naked again.
"I have a proposition for you," I said, my voice low.
"What kind of proposition?"
I smiled, slow and predatory. This was it. This was the moment that would change everything for both of us.
"You’re going to be my wife."
5
CASSIE
The ride to the private jet passed in suffocating silence.
City lights blurred past the tinted windows of Roman’s black SUV like streaks of neon paint, and I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching my entire world dissolve into nothing. The leather seat beneath me felt expensive and foreign, just like everything else in Roman’s orbit.
You’re going to be my wife.
The words kept echoing in my head, bouncing around like a pinball I couldn’t catch. One hour ago, I’d been Cassie James, an assistant with a decent job and manageable problems. Now, I wasapparentlyengaged to one of the most dangerous men in the city, and I had no idea how I’d gotten here.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I knew how I’d gotten here—one incredibly stupid, wine-fueled text message that had somehow turned my life into a mafia romance novel.
"Breathe," Roman said without looking at me, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
"I am breathing."
"No, you’re hyperventilating."
I turned to glare at him, but the words died in my throat when I saw his profile in the shifting light. Sharp jaw clenched tight. Eyes scanning the mirrors constantly, watching for threats I couldn’t even imagine. His hand rested on his thigh, fingers drumming that familiar pattern that meant he was stressed.
But it was the gun holstered beneath his jacket that made my breath hitch. I’d never actually seen it before, but the outline was unmistakable now that I knew what to look for.
"Roman," I started, my voice smaller than I intended.
"We’ll talk on the plane."
That was it. Conversation over. I wanted to argue, to demand answers, to scream that I hadn’t agreed to any of this. But something in his tone warned me that now wasn’t the time.
The SUV pulled through a gate marked "Private Aviation," and my stomach dropped. This wasn’t a casual business trip. This was my life, changing in real time, and I was powerless to stop it.
The plane waiting on the tarmac was sleek and white with dark windows, the kind of aircraft that screamed money and discretion. Roman was out of the car before it fully stopped, moving with the fluid grace of a predator who never let his guard down. He opened my door and offered his hand, and for a moment, I just stared at it.
Taking his hand felt like crossing another line I couldn’t uncross.
But what choice did I have? I was already here, already in too deep to back out now. And despite everything—the fear,the confusion, the absolute insanity of the situation—there was a part of me that had been waiting for this moment for five months.
A part of me that had been fantasizing about Roman Creed claiming me.
I took his hand.
His fingers closed around mine with warm, possessive strength, and that familiar electricity shot up my arm. Even now, even terrified and confused, my body responded to his touch like it was designed specifically for him.
"Stay close," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear as he helped me from the car. "And let me do the talking."
