Page 73 of Sinister Intentions

He remained silent, so I looked up and met the smoldering look in those dangerously dark eyes of his.

“What?”

His hands slowly crept up my backside, caressed my back.

That’s when I felt it.

My heart stuttered, and I froze while his bulge pressed against me, unmistakable evidence of his desire.

“Do not fucking move,” he growled.

I tried to stay still—I really tried—but I couldn’t. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the vein pulsing in his jaw either.

Oh, my God. Heat built in my belly, and for whatever reason, I had the irresistible urge to grind my hips against him. Just a little bit, just for a little tiny taste.

But before I could move, his large hands clamped around my waist, holding me firmly in place as he raised his head again and almost seared me with his heated stare.

“Why can’t you once do what I say?” he growled, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through me. “And what are you doing to me?”

Confused, I shot back, “Doing what? I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who’s been glaring daggers at me all night.”

A harsh chuckle spilled from his lips. “Does Evil Prince ring a bell?” He sighed. “My brothers like you.”

I blinked, thrown by the seemingly abrupt change of topic. “Most people like me,” I retorted, unable to resist a cocky grin as I focused on the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palms. “I’m usually a very likable person.”

His only response was a contemplative hum. Which honestly pissed me off a little bit, so I wiggled, which elicited a sharp exhale from him before he locked me down with his hands on my hips.

When the silence stretched, I found my gaze drawn inexorably to his mouth, to his lips which were slightly parted. “Why don’t you like me?” I murmured, transfixed before I realized what I’d said and clamped my mouth shut.

Too late.

His jaw tightened, those piercing eyes holding mine captive. “You know why.”

I shook my head slowly. “No, I don’t. Why do you want me to marry Matt?”

He exhaled, long and slow, and I felt the rise and fall of his chest against mine. “It’s the only way to get you under control, to neutralize you.”

Get me under control? Neutralize me? The words struck a chord, sending a tremor of unease through me. “This sounds like killing me would’ve been an option, as well.”

Instead of answering, he reached up and traced his fingers through my short hair—did I lose my cap again?

Shit.

I’d worn it all evening, and surprisingly, nobody commented on my missing wig.

His touch was featherlight yet left a scorching path across my sensitized skin.

I shivered, suddenly recalling that he hadn’t so much as batted an eye at my drastic change of appearance.

“I thought about killing you,” he said at last, his tone unreadable. “But the repercussions would’ve been considerable. Also, I’m not an amateur. I need definitive proof before I make the decision to kill someone.”

My breath caught in my throat. “And?”

A hollow chuckle rumbled from deep within his chest. “I’m still waiting on the evidence.”

“What if there isn’t any?”

He cocked his head and held my gaze. “There’s more than I have right now.”

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