Page 97 of Sinister Intentions

Looking at the exhaustion etched on her face, I made a split-second decision. I wanted her in my bed, nowhere else. “Come on,” I said, turned, and guided her toward my bedroom instead.

Her eyes widened as we entered.

No other woman had ever set foot in my bedroom before her, before I kidnapped her and brought her in here. “Bad memories?”

She shook her head.

I exhaled. “Arms up,” I instructed, reaching for the hem of her shirt.

She complied without argument, too tired to protest.

I swallowed hard as I lifted the fabric, revealing smooth skin. I grabbed my sleep shirt from under my pillow and slipped it over her head, letting it fall to her thighs. Seeing her in my clothes felt absolutely perfect. Right. Natural.

“Can you manage the rest?” I asked, my voice rough.

She nodded sleepily, fumbling with her pants.

I turned away, giving her privacy, which was ridiculous when I’d just had my hand shoved in there, getting her off. But right now, every instinct screamed to protect her and take care of her.

When I heard the rustle of sheets, I turned back.

Jemma was curled up in my bed, looking small and vulnerable. I tucked the covers around her, my fingers lingering on her shoulder.

“Sleep,” I murmured, fighting the urge to climb in beside her. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, and within moments, her breathing evened out. I stood there, watching her. She looked even younger with her guard down. Soft and vulnerable. No wonder she’d burrowed her way under my skin.

I turned, opened the door, stepped out onto the terrace, and closed the door behind me. The cool night air hit my face, a necessary slap I needed to clear my head. Instead of obsessing over my little punk, I’d better focus on what my father was up to—and with that Russian asshole, no less.

I moved to the outdoor fireplace, methodically stacked logs and kindling. The familiar motions helped calm my racing thoughts.

As the flames flickered to life, I found myself staring into the fire. I didn’t like to be surprised. It wasn’t something that happened often. But tonight, I got blindsided. Because I focused too much on Jemma?

Or was there something else going on I wasn’t seeing? My father would’ve never entered into a business relationship without gaining something significant.

What was it that bastard Zotov promised him? And what was Zotov’s agenda?

My eyes drifted to the hammock nearby. I’d spent countless nights out here when sleep eluded me when the weight of family obligations and business decisions was too heavy.

Tonight would likely be another one of those nights.

I settled into the hammock, and my mind turned to the uncomfortable conversations ahead. I shot Matt a text to come to the apartment first thing in the morning. Would he be furious if I ran off and left him to fend for me?

I sighed. I’d never put anything above the family business—until now.

He would probably be more pissed off about that than about the fact that I would marry Jemma instead of him.

Alex would probably want to have a say in that, as well, and Jemma’s father was another matter entirely.

Craig Donnelly was old school, set in his ways. He probably wouldn’t react too kindly to me changing the terms of our agreement. I’d have to tread carefully and find a way to smooth things over without weakening my position.

As I lay there, the warmth of the fire washing over me, I couldn’t shake the image of Jemma curled up in my bed. She looked so peaceful, so trusting. It made something twist in my chest—a feeling I wasn’t used to.

Possessiveness.

From here on out, she was mine. Only mine.

Mine to keep. Mine to protect. Mine to possess.

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