Page 113 of Ruthless Intent

She doesn’t answer that. “Can I get you something to drink?” She stands up.

I shake my head before Zain can reply. “No, we’re eating out. I just want to get a change of clothes.”

“I see.”

“We’re going back to my mom’s place. I have a television interview set up for tomorrow. I’ve asked Ashley to be there with me. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

My prayers for intervention are being soundly ignored by every deity in existence.

“A television interview?”

“My release is a big deal around here, apparently. Everyone wants to be the first to hear about it.” His words are delivered in a casual tone. “They’re excited to speak to Ashley as well.”

“Speak to … Oh, absolutely not. Ashley, are you out of your mind?”

“I never … I didn’t say I’d talk to them.” The fingers on my shoulder flex, biting into my skin. “I just said I’d be there to support you.”

“You really think they won’t want to talk to you? You’re just as important to the story of why I was released. You deserve the same amount of attention as me.” He uses his hand to pull me backward and then turns and pushes me toward the stairs. “Go and pack. I’ll keep your mom company.”

“I don’t think?—”

“The contract doesn’t require you to think.” His voice is low and flat.

I stop on the third step and turn. We’re at perfect eye level. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

His lips curve, and I’m filled with the almost irresistible urge to slap the smirk off his face.

“I am what you made me.”

The words deflate me, which I’m sure is his intention, and I spin away, my intention to hide in my bedroom for as long as I can get away with it. I haven’t made it two steps before a hand wraps around my arm and pulls me back around.

“What are?—”

His mouth covers mine. The contact shocks me, and my mind blanks, freezing me to the spot. His lips are hard, the kiss one-sided as I stand there without moving. His eyes bore into mine. The hand around my arm squeezes in an almost painful grip.

I think I make a sound of protest. I’m not sure. But something changes. The grip on my arm gentles, his lips soften, and his lashes drop to veil his eyes.

The stray thought that I know women who would kill for such thick, dark lashes flits through my head.

A hand cups the side of my face, his thumb stroking over my jaw as his lips move over mine. And just as I soften, just as my lips part, he breaks away.

“Go and pack.” His voice is clipped, as he turns and stalks back along the hallway to the living room.

I stay where I am, fingers pressed to my lips.

What the hell just happened?

I’m torn between the desire to go after him and demand to know what that was all about and my original plan to hide out in my bedroom under the pretense of packing.

I even take a step down the stairs, but then stop when the sound of my mom’s voice reaches me. I can’t make out her words, but Zain replies to her … and then she laughs. And the sound is genuine, not her fake ‘I’m just humoring you’ laugh. It’s a laugh I haven’t heard in years, and something squeezes my heart.

Slowly, I turn and trudge up the stairs to my room. Closing the door behind me, I lean against it, and close my eyes.

I can still feel his lips on mine, smell the subtle scent of his cologne, the warmth of his palm where it cupped my cheek.

Is this going to be his latest form of torture?

I laugh to myself.

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