My words were laced with sarcasm and just the right amount of bite to annoy him. “Why are you determined to fight me, Juliet?” All six foot two inches of Christos Constantine loomed over me. Dark hair, brilliant green eyes and unbelievably gorgeous in that hard, intimidating type of way that made women question the point of moral purity. I hated him. Even as I thought the words, my heart pounded against my rib cage and desire pulled at me. Damn chemistry. I hated that too. Hated even more that I had it with him of all people. He’d beaten me again when few men ever did. Even fewer experienced a repeat victory. And every time Christos won he became that much more irresistible. I didn’t even want to contemplate what that said about me. “When you know I’ll win?” His rich voice rumbled from his throat and my knees weakened. Why did I like this? The arrogance? It was as if I were genetically hardwired to respond to everything he said. The more dominant he acted the more I salivated.
