Page 37 of Manacled Hearts

“Prove it, then. Because I’ve been trying to make sense of your attitude toward me, Finnigan.”

His eyes flicker at the sound of his name and nostrils flare.

“From the first moment I saw you, when you found me in that container, you looked at me like I broke something of yours I didn’t know existed. And you had such… revulsion for me. I understood it then—I’m a poor, dirty, uneducated homeless girl who screwed up and got herself in trouble. But you still have not stopped watching me. You’re doing a better job at hiding the revulsion, but now it’s like you’re demanding I fix whatever you think it is I broke.” Where did I get the guts to call this man out on his attitude?

This is going to bite me right in the ass, judging by his darkening expression.

“You’re crossing a line, girl.” His tone turns to a low rumble, and my palm whips against his cheek on a loud crack.

“Do not call me girl!”

I freeze, eyes widening as if what I did only just sinks in. His eyes widen in shock, his lips are pursed in annoyance, but the man is too stunned to speak. Or act.

Nope, I was wrong. So, so wrong. On rushed steps, my back is pressed against the wall, the hand I slapped him with pinned by the wrist above my head, as his other slams against the wall next my head. I’m caged in. His chest rises and falls on strained, heavy breaths that sizzle against my skin. He’s so… so close, yet his hand around my wrist is the only part of him touching me.

I have to crane my neck to look him in the eyes, but the intensity in them presses against my soul. My breath is trapped somewhere in my lungs as I await the impending punishment. All the courage I had a moment ago has stalled, simmering beyond this painful anticipation.

But something else seeps in through it all. Through the closeness of our bodies, in the heat radiating between us, amongst the heavy breaths and the touch of his powerful grip, invisible threads sizzle. They start over my lips, sliding down and wrapping around my throat, turning to goosebumps as they fall over my chest. They graze my breasts before they drop to my belly and my gaze widens on a slight gasp when I realize I can’t stop where the sizzling sensation is heading to.

This is so wrong. The man just insulted me down to my bones, and yet my body has no reservations. I expected punishment, but he looks at me like he’s the one being punished. I may be seeing things, but I swear he looks just as I feel—charged with a heated tension we can’t control.

“Evelyn,” he whispers my name like it’s too heavy on his tongue. “I need you to go.”

“Why?” It comes out like something between a breath and a whimper.

“Leave Queenscove.” He ignores my question.

“No.”

“Goddamn it, woman!” His hand flexes around my wrist and my free hand shoots up before me instinctively.

His muscles tense when I grab onto his side yet he doesn’t let go. Doesn’t even move an inch. But his bright blue eyes darken, and a few curly strands I itch to wrap around my finger fall around his face as he leans in further.

Christ, no man should ever be allowed to look this good.

“You can’t do it, can you?” I whisper, my gaze straining to stay on his eyes and not move further down. “You can’t prove that you’re not chasing me away because of the other night. What are you afraid of, Finnigan? Why do you want to get rid of me so badly?”

“You’re reading too much into it.”

“Am I reading too much into this too?” I look between us, at the closeness of our bodies, before returning to his azure eyes.

His nostrils flare again, and his gaze drops to my lips for a heavy moment before it comes back to my eyes. A raging fire burns through the blue.

“Yes. You’re just a—”

“Don’t you dare say it again.” I seethe. God, the way I despise being called a girl.

“Too young. Far, far too young.”

“For what?” I challenge.

He sighs, too many seconds passing without an answer.

“Stop being fucking stubborn. I’m offering you money with no strings attached. An easy way out,” he deflects again, but this time I’m absolutely done with it.

“No strings attached?” I scoff. “I don’t believe that for a second. Your kind doesn’t operate like that, and we both know it. There’s always a price to pay with the mafia,”—I throw the word to see how it lands, if he’s going to deny it—“and I’ve had enough taken away by your world. I will never, ever accept your blood money.”

That, he did not like.

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