Page 96 of Sinister Intentions

Before I got obsessed with her.

Before I recognized she was mine.

It would take some time for her to accept that I would never let her go.

Never.

The elevator ride was a silent, tense affair. She avoided looking at me, which was infuriating.

When we reached my floor, she side-eyed me again.

“Come on,” I said.

She hesitated, and I caught a glimpse of worry flickering in her eyes. It was quickly replaced by her usual bratty defiance, but it left me with an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I tightened my jaw. I was a dominant asshole. I’d earned my reputation by being more ruthless, dangerous, calculated, and colder than anyone else.

But the look of fear in her eyes—no matter if it was just a flicker—was enough to bring me to my knees. “I’m not gonna touch you again if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

Fuck. I shouldn’t have touched her in the car. Not right now. Not when she was drunk.

She never gave me permission. I just took what I wanted. And what I wanted was her.

I slipped my arm off her waist and waited until she stepped out of the elevator.

I took in the sleek, modern decor and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the twinkling city lights below.

My apartment had always been my sanctuary. Apart from my siblings, nobody was allowed in here.

I broke that rule for Jemma. Broke all the rules for her.

I looked down at the crown of her head. I could’ve brought her anywhere when I fake-kidnapped her—one of the warehouses, the company building had a soundproof basement, or even a hotel room.

Why did I bring her here? Why did I carry her unconscious ass on the elevator ride? How could I ever think having her alone in my apartment wouldn’t lead to disaster?

I chuckled, and her head snapped to me. “What?”

She wobbled slightly.

I slung my arm around her, then shook my head. “Nothing.”

She nodded, then swayed again.

I turned to face her, narrowed my eyes, then grabbed her chin.

Dark circles under her eyes marked her face, and she suddenly looked ready to crumble. She must be too drunk or too exhausted to hide her weakness because there was no way she would show me if she could hide it. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, but even her voice sounded weak.

“You need some shut-eye,” I growled, angry at myself for having exploited her vulnerable state.

I led her towards my sister’s room, my hand on the small of her back.

When we reached the door, she stumbled slightly, alarmingly unsteady on her feet. Then she looked inside, her movements sluggish. “I thought this was your girlfriend’s room when I was in here last time,” she mumbled.

I froze and clenched my jaw. She thought this was my girlfriend’s room? I stared down at her. The thought of another woman in my space, in my life, was absurd. There was only her. “I don’t have a girlfriend,” I said gruffly.

She nodded slowly.

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