Page 48 of Sinister Intentions

Nobody could touch her. Nobody.

And that included my brother. I should have a no-sex clause written into their marriage contract.

I definitely needed to do that.

Her big, doe-like eyes staring at me popped back into my mind, and a shiver ran down my spine at the memory. I couldn’t deny the thrill it had given me having her watch me.

Fuck. I ran my hands through my hair. I shouldn’t have touched myself, not with her in the apartment.

I shouldn’t have touched myself, not with her in the apartment.

So much for my world-renowned self-control—which, apparently, left the building as soon as she appeared.

What was it about Jemma that made me lose my grip on control?

From the moment I’d laid eyes on her in that library, she’d burrowed herself under my skin and challenged me at every turn.

Which brought me to the matter at hand. Her reaction when I’d brought her here had been…extreme, to say the least. The sheer terror in her eyes, the way her body had trembled—it was clear something had happened to trigger such a visceral response…something more than just being restrained in a dark room.

What could have caused that level of panic? Had it been the inability to move? Or had it been the kidnapping itself? Did it stem from some past trauma—one that ran deeper than I realized?

Suddenly, it all clicked.

Sophie had been abducted before Gabe kidnapped her and made her his…along with Fee and Sophie’s sisters.

Jemma was Sophie’s sister.

I tried to remember any details but couldn’t. They’d not been held long, as far as I remembered. But my memory of the incident was fuzzy because it hadn’t concerned me when it happened.

But perhaps that experience had left more scars in Jemma than anyone knew.

Fuck.

One more point on our list of things we needed to talk about.

As for the hacking…well, that was a separate issue entirely. One I intended to get to the bottom of once I’d ensured she was okay.

Because for all her bravado and defiance, Jemma was still a kid playing a dangerous game. A game that could get her in deep trouble if she wasn’t careful.

Maybe that’s why she’d done it—a cry for help, a way to act out after what had happened to her.

That, or she’d gone off the deep end entirely. Hacking, stealing money—it was such a destructive activity.

I shook my head and pushed those thoughts aside for now.

First, I needed to deal with the fallout of the current situation and make sure she was in a stable enough headspace to have a real conversation.

Squaring my shoulders, I made my way into the living room, intent on finally getting some answers.

But the sight that greeted me brought me up short.

There was Jemma, curled up on the sofa with Picca nestled in her lap—her favorite position—which I’d found out since I’d brought her home from the vet.

Jemma’s fingers idly stroked the pup’s fur as she stared into the distance, looking utterly…at peace and as if she belonged right here on my couch, in my living room.

It was such a stark contrast to the terrified girl from earlier that I almost didn’t recognize her. Almost.

Because there, right in front of her on the coffee table, sat her wig and ball cap.

---