Page 40 of Runaway Hearts: Seduced by Danger

I wait for him to say I’m not hot enough to be part of his personnel, but he steps closer and the space between us vibrates with energy. “Right now, you’re my girlfriend.”

That silky threat wraps around my willpower, determined to unravel it.

“You meanpretendgirlfriend,“ I correct him, pulling myself up to my full height.

He chuckles, a sound that resonates with danger. “Damn, you’re adorable.”

Bite me.

I want to tell him he’s an arrogant bastard, scream it at him even, but a feather-light touch grazes my palm and cuts off all coherent thought. My breath catches in my throat as he reveals the jagged line where skin is pieced together.

My lips part in awe, and I must resist the urge to reach out and touch him.

“Marianne, please,” he whispers, holding my gaze with smug confidence. “Don’t leave me like that.”

Those words undo me. A spasm in my fingers travels to my heart and cracks.

Fucking manipulative jerk.

I step forward, glaring at him. “Fine,” I spit. “Just let me get my kit.”

He winks at me like I’m just another conquest to add to his list. The laugh he lets out is sensuous. Eyes wrinkled, teeth exposed, I even have a glimpse of his tongue.

I wanted spice, and I now own the entire chili farm.

And it might be too hot to handle.

A robust whiff of grilled tomato and melted cheese causes me to salivate as I reenter the house.

Nina sets the table while Corey checks for wine. He is charming, with chestnut hair and a soothing voice showing affection for his wife. It made me realize how much I missed them and that I want this too.

But right now, I must take care of a wounded asshole.

I step into my old bedroom and its sea blue calms my mind. My lips curve at the sight of the book-filled shelves in the corner. It bows under the weight of the volumes it holds, like a proud and tired sentinel of my love for literature.

And fictional villains.

My bed is an oasis of comfort, with a deep indentation in the middle from being the only mass to have ever slept in it. I’ve never shared this bed before, but I’m about to.

With an actual villain.

I put the stitches kit on my bed, and Kai removes his T-shirt before I even ask. That man isn’t afraid to take off his clothes in the presence of anyone. I wish I had that kind of confidence.

Wow. There are way too many abs for one stomach.

I focus on cleaning the wound. The scent of antiseptic fills the air, mixing with the salty tang of sweat. The antibiotic cream did its job, and the flesh isn’t as swollen now. The once-angry redness has faded to a bright pink, but the edges are too far apart.

Despite my best efforts, my gaze lingers on the trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans, a tantalizing glimpse of what lies beneath.

I wonder what he tastes like.

“Would you lie on the bed and turn to your left side to face the wall, please?”

And there it is—a man on my bed. A sigh of unfiltered female satisfaction escapes my lips without my consent. My fingers tingle with the need to trace every line and groove of his powerful back, but the phoenix stares at me, and it’s weirdly intimidating.

“I can’t remove the first stitches yet, but I’ll add tighter ones.” I prepare my stuff, and he turnsto face me.

Didn’t I tell him to face the wall?

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