Page 58 of Sinister Intentions

But the blatant disrespect was like a slap in the face. “If you’re done trying to get a rise out of me, can we go back to the question? Why are you here? What do you want?”

He looked at me, the skin around his eyes tensing for a split second before he relaxed his features. “You’re still not ready to hear what I have to say.”

And what the fuck did that mean? “I will never be ready or willing to play your games. So you better fuck off now. You’re just wasting your time.”

He nodded. “We’ll see. Say hi for me to your newest obsession.”

My newest obsession? Jemma? Was he implying that my interest in her went beyond mere brotherly protectiveness? And what did he base his assumptions on? Watching us walk side by side? I should really end this fucker. “Say hi from me to your therapist. You’re seeing one, right? Because obsessive tendencies like inserting yourself in situations you don’t belong and becoming obsessed with other people’s lives should be dealt with sooner rather than later.”

He raised one corner of his mouth. “Maybe couple’s therapy would help us overcome this animosity between us.”

“Even if there were an us—which there clearly isn’t and never will be—I think therapy wouldn’t help. Just keep your distance if you value your life, and we’re golden.”

He grinned again and nodded once.

So I settled for one last glower before turning on my heel and stalking back towards Jemma, my anger simmering just beneath the surface.

What the hell did he want? And why was he so fixated on me, or was it Jemma? A surge of protectiveness washed over me at the thought of him anywhere near her.

Jemma looked up as I approached, her brow furrowed in concern. “Is everything okay?”

I forced a tight smile, not wanting to worry her unnecessarily. “Everything’s fine,” I lied smoothly. “Just an unwanted guest.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly as if she could sense the tension radiating off me. “That’s Ivan Zotov, right?”

I nodded. Of course, she knew. She’d met the bastard in Ireland when all the shit between Alex and Fee’s father went down.

She turned back, and I followed her gaze, but Ivan Zotov was already gone.

“What did he want?”

I shrugged. “Nothing. He was just here by chance.”

She held my gaze, and I could see in her eyes she didn’t believe a single word, but for some completely out-of-character reason, she didn’t press further; instead, she simply handed Picca’s leash back to me.

Our fingers brushed in the exchange, sending an unexpected jolt through me.

Damn it, I needed to get a grip. This inexplicable chemistry was becoming a problem. Especially when even a bastard like Zotov was insinuating there was more going on between us than there was.

We resumed our walk in silence, the earlier lightness and peace now weighed down by the sudden appearance of Ivan fucking Zotov.

My gaze kept flickering to Jemma, studying her features as if searching for answers to questions I couldn’t even formulate.

She was not the person I thought she was; that much was certain. And for some unfathomable reason, I found myself utterly fascinated by her.

When I really shouldn’t.

Maybe it was the way she carried herself with such sassiness and strength when there was clearly trauma she was hiding.

Or the fierce determination burning in those piercing green eyes whenever she went toe-to-toe with me. Hell, maybe it was just the fact that she was the first woman in a long time who didn’t immediately fall at my feet, fawning and simpering for my attention.

Whatever the reason, she had well and truly gotten under my skin. And I had the sinking suspicion that was exactly what Zotov had been implying with his parting words.

The thought made my jaw clench. I was not obsessed. I was…intrigued, sure. Drawn to the mystery that surrounded her, absolutely. But obsession? That was taking it too far.

Wasn’t it?

I risked another sidelong glance at her, taking in the sharp angles of her face, the full curve of her lips. The punk-rock hairdo she hid under her cap—which was another mystery to unravel—accentuated the defiant tilt of her chin—it was as if she was daring the world to underestimate her, to dismiss her as just another pretty face. When she was anything but.

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