Page 121 of Ruthless Intent

Pain spreads down my arm, and my eyes widen at the palm print across his cheek.

His eyes narrow, and he comes toward me.

I’ve done it now. I’ve pushed him too far.

The expression on his face is terrifying, and the only thought in my head is that if I don’t get out of his path, he’s going to kill me. I dart to the side. His arm flashes out and he hauls me back in front of him.

“That was a mistake.” The darkness coating his voice is as frightening as the look in his eyes.

“This whole thing is a mistake.” I try to twist out of his grip.

“Oh no, Firecracker. There’s no escape from me this time.”

My back hits the countertop. One arm drops to rest against the edge of the marble, the other lifts and he wraps his fingers around my throat and forces my head up.

“Do you remember what I said to you all those years ago after they read out my sentence?”

My mouth is dry, my heart feels like it’s trying to escape through my throat.

I do remember what he said to me. The words are burned into my brain. I spent years waking up screaming after nightmares about them.

“You’re going to pay for this, little girl. I don’t care how long it takes. The day I get out, you’re going to pay for what you’ve done to me.”

His head lowers, one side of his mouth curling upwards. “Time to pay the piper, Ashley.”

And then he kisses me.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

ZAIN

She’s shaking. Her breath leaves her lips in short, sharp gasps, and the pulse in her throat is a rapid beat against my fingers. And finally, finally there’s fear in her eyes.

When I remind her of what I said in court, that fear seems to spike. Her eyes dilate, her lips part, and the color leaves her face.

Why am I doing it? Why am I terrifying her?

Because seeing the way she responds to it is becoming addictive. It’s like a drug that, if I’m not careful, I’m going to get addicted to. The problem is, I already want more of it.

But it’s also because I don’t want her to think about why I was so close behind her when she slipped on the stairs.

I don’t want her to know that when I saw her slip, my heart fucking stopped.

I don’t want her to realize that the second she lost her balance, I shot up those fucking stairs like there was a dangerous predator chasing me.

Because the thought of her lifeless body on the floor makes me feel things I do not want to examine.

Because if she realizes all that, then she might ask me why. And I don’t even want to ask myself that question.

But the second my mouth touches hers, it’s no longer about what happened out in the hallway. It’s not even about what happened in court all those years ago.

It becomes about touch, about taste, about how soft her lips are beneath mine. It becomes about something I haven’t experienced in over fourteen years.

Desire.

My fingers flex around her throat, and the soft gasp she releases sends all my blood running south, straight to my dick. It also parts her lips, and I run my tongue over them, then dip inside to stroke it along hers, and step closer. My other hand lifts, cups the back of her head, holding her still so I can deepen the kiss.

There’s a rushing sound in my ears, fire burning through my veins, and the rapid thrum of her pulse beneath my fingertips matches the sudden chaotic beat of my heart.

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