Craving My Ruthless Ceo novel Chapter 42

Chapter 42: Where Did You Learn To Fight

Anna’s POV

The anger I’d been holding back snapped. I found the strength to tilt my head up defiantly, meeting his gaze even as my body still trembled with unfulfilled need.

“You’re wrong,” I countered, forcing my voice to harden.

His eyebrow arched, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “Am I?”

“Yes. I’m not… I’m not what you think.” The words tumbled out, desperate and unconvincing even to my own ears. “I’ve been with men before. I know what I’m doing. Just because I haven’t seen every dick in the world doesn’t mean I’m some innocent virgin who…”

“Anna.” He cut me off, raising his hand. “Stop.”

“I’m not stopping. You don’t know anything about me or my experience or what I’ve…”

“You’re a terrible liar.” He stepped closer, backing me against the wall once more. His hand came up to cup my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Every time you lie, you fidget with your hands. Your voice gets higher. And your eyes…”

He traced his thumb along my cheekbone. “Your eyes dart away from mine.”

“That’s not…”

“And right now,” he continued, his other hand pressing against the wall beside my head, caging me in, “you’re doing all three.”

I opened my mouth to argue, to protest, to say anything that would convince him otherwise.

But nothing came out because he was right. And we both knew it.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. He raised his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Get dressed, Anna. We’re done here.”

He started to turn away, but then I noticed the angry purple bruise spreading across his knuckles.

My eyes traveled up his arm, finding more marks, then to his face where a darker bruise was forming beneath his left eye.

“You’re hurt,” I blurted out, my voice worried.

He paused, glancing down at his hand with complete indifference. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” I stepped forward, my earlier embarrassment forgotten. “You’re covered in bruises. We should at least clean the wounds.”

“I’ll handle it,” he said dismissively, already walking away.

Guilt crashed over me all at once. This was my fault. He’d gotten hurt because of me, because he’d gone after Drago to pull me out of that nightmare.

It made it worse knowing I hadn’t even noticed at first. I’d been so wrapped up in my own fear and emotions that I hadn’t really seen him.

And now he was acting like it meant nothing, like he hadn’t just fought a man twice his size to protect me. “I’m not leaving you to take care of it alone,” I insisted, following him. “You’re hurt, and it’s all my fault. So I’m staying.”

Roman stopped in the doorway to his bedroom, turning to look at me with raised eyebrows. A hint of amusement played at his lips. “So you’re bossing me around now?”

“You took care of me,” I folded my arms across my chest, planting my feet. I wasn’t backing down. “So it’s my turn. Let me help you.”

He studied me for a long moment, those dark eyes searching my face. Then his expression shifted, something close to respect settling in.

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Chapter 42: Where Did You Learn To Fight

“Fine,” he said finally. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you start feeling faint at the sight of blood.”

I caught the sarcasm right away. “I write erotic romance with violent fight scenes,” I countered. “I think I can handle a few bruises.”

His lips curved into an actual smile that transformed his entire face. “We’ll see about that.”

He turned back, and I paused in my tracks. “Unless you want a replay of earlier,” he called over his shoulder, “I suggest you wait here while I get dressed.”

Heat rushed to my face. He’d said it on purpose. He knew exactly how it would land.

I stepped back as he disappeared into what had to be a massive walk-in closet. No matter how tempting it was to look, I wasn’t risking another moment like that.

A few minutes later, he emerged in a pair of dark lounge pants and a soft gray T-shirt, the kind that clung without trying.

For a moment, I almost didn’t recognize him. I was used to seeing him in expensive designer suits, put together and in control.

Now he looked simple, relaxed, and somehow still extremely handsome.

“The first aid kit is in the bathroom,” he jerked his head toward the ensuite.

I followed him in, watching as he retrieved a white box from beneath the sink. When he handed it to me, our fingers brushed, and I felt that same electric charge from earlier.

“Come on,” he led me back to the bedroom.

He sat on the edge of his massive bed, and I knelt between his legs, the first aid kit open beside us. Being this close to him, standing between his spread thighs, made my heart race all over again.

I tried to focus on the task at hand. Taking his hand gently, I examined the split skin across his knuckles. Blood had dried in the cracks, and the surrounding skin was swollen and angry.

“This might sting,” I warned, dampening a cotton pad with antiseptic.

“I’ve had worse,” he said simply.

I cleaned the wounds carefully, my touch as gentle as I could make it. He didn’t flinch, didn’t make a sound, just watched me work with those intense dark eyes.

His hand was large and warm in mine, rough calluses on his palm contradicting the image of a man who spent his days behind a desk.

I dabbed at the split skin across his knuckles, watching the dried blood come away on the cotton pad. The bruising was worse than I’d initially thought, deep purple spreading across the back of his hand, angry and

swollen.

I found myself studying him as.I worked. Up close like this, standing between his spread thighs with my face level with his, I could see details I’d never noticed before.

His eyes weren’t just dark. They were a piercing blue, so deep they appeared almost black in certain light. Right now, with the morning sun streaming through the windows, they were the color of a stormy ocean. Intense. Penetrating. The kind of eyes that saw everything and missed nothing.

“When did you learn to fight like that?” I asked, trying to distract myself from how intimate this felt. “You beat the hell out of Drago.”

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