Page 90 of Heart of Thorns

My father made me an expert in fear.

But this? To be alone…

“The building filled with smoke and fire so fast, and there was no choice. I ended up back in the room I was working in, and then I just…”

“It’s okay.” I cup the back of her head, her cheek on my chest. I try to remember to breathe. “He can’t hurt you.”

She pulls back slowly. “That’s the thing, Thorne. Hecan.”

My confusion must be apparent, because she scrambles off me and goes to her desk. She rummages around in one of the drawers, then flicks on the lamp and returns to me. She holds out a note sealed tight in a Ziploc bag.

Stop looking.

Or you’ll be the one soaked in gasoline.

My heart beats faster. “Someone left this for you?”

“Not just someone. The guy who freaking left me to die.” She balls her fists. “He got in here—I?—”

“Hey.” I set the note aside and catch her hand. “Hey, hey. He snuck in like a coward when you weren’t here. ButI’mhere now, kitten.”

She swallows. I’ve never seen her look so forlorn.

“I just don’t want him to hurt you, Cassius.”

I close my eyes. I hate to admit that I like it when she says my first name. It’s like a balm instead of the rough reprimanding tone my parents use.

Speaking of parents…

“I hope the dinner didn’t scare you away.”

She meets my gaze, and the corner of her lips lifts. “Me? Scared of some rich old snobs? Never.”

“Good.” I run my thumb across her knuckles. “Then you need to get naked immediately.”

She backs away from me and grabs the hem of her shirt. She lifts it slowly, revealing her toned abdomen, then her bare breasts. I swing my legs off the bed and scoot forward, but I manage to keep my hands to myself—for now.

Briar swivels around, giving me a view of her back, and hooks her thumbs in the waistband of her sleep shorts. She leans forward and drags them down. I swallow hard, the view of her perfect ass almost too much.

My dick is standing at attention, pressing against my sweatpants.

I stand, too, and kick them off. Along with the rest of my clothes.

She meets me in the middle of the room, and she puts her palm on my abs.

“A six-pack just isn’t fair,” she murmurs.

I flex harder, grinning.

“Make that eight.” She sighs. “Fuck me.”

“That’s the plan, kitten.”

I skim the side of her neck and catch her hair in my hand. Using it to pull her head back, I lean down and kiss her hard. My other hand palms her breast, and I pinch her nipple. Roll it between my fingers. She moans into my mouth, and I shift forward. My dick brushes her stomach.

Beds are overrated.

I release her breast and hair and grip her hips, lifting her. I cross the room and put her back against the wall next to the door—barely missing the pot contraption—and raise her higher.

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