Page 293 of Hateful Games

Like my subconscious knew it wasn’t Malcolm.

But my gorgeous villain.

Grabbing my throat, Nova walks me backward against the railing. My fingers trace down the flexed arm, down his forearms dusted with light hair. Every inch of him masculine and raw and domineering.

I frown when my hand collides with his fingers curled around something feathery.

A soft gasp spills as I peer at it.

My butterfly mask I wore that night.

I turn his palm upward and touch the wings, whispering, “You kept it.”

“I wasn’t leaving without a souvenir of the night I made you mine, Rose,” he answers. His deep voice raising goosebumps along my skin. My hand slips when he raises the mask to my face and makes me wear it. I’m faced away so he can tie it behind my head.

I curl my fingers on the ledge when he hooks his fingers underneath the thin straps of my slip and lowers them down my arms. A sharp tug when it bunches around my pierced nipples and it flutters to the ground.

Until I’m standing shivering in my ruined panties.

The red color may as well be waving a flag against my starving beast.

His touch disappears.

Warm breath teases my ear, then soft lips command, “Run, my Rose.”

Sensual thrill takes root in my stomach as I dash down the stairs half naked and wearing a mask. My hand skimming the smooth surface of the wooden banister. When I gaze up and behind, he’s leisurely taking the steps. Those hollow eyes pinned on mine.

Roaming down my spine as I take down the hallway to the library and his study.

I push open the library but skip it and enter the third empty room.

A small closet-sized room with shelves lining one wall.

My chest rises and falls with my rapid breathing as I try to not make a sound. Back against the wall, I listen for his footsteps. Several minutes pass and I hear nothing.

Restlessness grows.

I’m already burning for his touch, dreaming of his fingers gliding along my skin. Pushing away from the wall, I peek around for signs of him.

My eyes locking on my predator.

Leaning his shoulder against the corner.

The gasp dies on my tongue when he closes the distance and steps inside. The door slams shut with a bang that makes me shudder, locking us inside.

I can’t see, only feel.

My other senses sharpening as I inhale his musky and male scent. His labored breathing when my hands connect with his pecs. He cages me against the shelves, leaning his head in the crook of my neck.

Fight-or-flight instinct kicks in.

I shove at his chest.

He easily catches my wrists and shoves them over my head.

“Why do you make it so easy, Rose? It’s almost as if you want to be caught.” His tone is dark and gravelly and amused. “Being my little slut makes me you that horny or is it the thought of being under my mercy?”

A grunt escapes his mouth when I bite his arm. I smile against his skin when he wrenches my head back with a fist in my hair. Pain spreads across my scalp when he twists.

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