Page 113 of Sinister Intentions

The sight of Jemma’s neck and shoulders, bare and glistening, sent a jolt of possessive desire through me.

Mine.

“…And dangerous. We need to be careful, Jemma. Very careful,” Isabella said, her voice barely audible above the bubbling water, but her face was pinched with worry.

And Jemma nodded.

“Very careful about what?” I asked, my voice slicing through the tense air. I stepped closer until the warm, humid air hit me, and the scent of chlorine filled my nostrils as I took in the scene before me.

Jemma turned her head around and fixed her gaze on me, her eyes big and round.

While Isabella let out a sharp gasp.

Guilty. Like two thieves caught red-handed.

They had been discussing something they didn’t want me to know about.

Something dangerous. Something they had to be very careful about. And by the somber way they talked about it, it wasn’t something of no importance.

I stalked even closer, my jaw clenched. “Well? I’m waiting.”

Silence.

They exchanged a loaded glance, a thousand unspoken words passing between them.

It only fueled the simmering unease in my gut. “Out. Now.” The command left no room for argument.

Jemma’s eyes flashed, a hint of defiance in the stubborn set of her chin. “What the hell?—”

I grabbed the edge of the Jacuzzi, leaned forward until our noses almost touched. “I said now, Punk.”

She held my gaze for a long, charged moment—a battle of wills. Showing me clearly how she wouldn’t be pushed around by me.

Annoying as hell.

“Jemma,” I warned, my voice low and dangerous. It was infuriating how she showed zero respect or fear—even in this situation—when every other woman I knew would have already submitted to my authority.

But in the end, she relented, rising from the water like a goddess of fury.

I tossed her her robe, my blood thrumming with the need to choke her…or kiss her.

Whatever she’d gotten herself into now, I needed to know. Needed to make sure she knew she wasn’t allowed to hide from me.

Not anymore.

And I needed to mark her as my own, so the whole fucking world needed to know she was untouchable.

“Get dressed. We’re going to see your father.”

Jemma froze, the robe halfway on. “Are you insane? You can’t just?—”

“Watch me,” I growled and took the robe she was still holding, held it up, and waited.

She narrowed her brows and held my gaze for a few seconds before she turned and slipped inside.

I waited until she faced me again, then grabbed the hem and pulled her close. The heat of her, the scent of chlorine and sin, was intoxicating. “You’re my wife. And it’s time you act like it.”

She yanked free, glaring up at me with those stormy eyes. “I’m not your wife, and I’m not one of your underlings. You can’t just order me around like you own me.”

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