Page 50 of The Devil's Deal

But if I can find a way to extinguish his trepidation, if I can make myself seem like I’m not unattainable, maybe I can find myself inhisbed instead of this one.

And once I’m there—once he has my body and I have his heart—I’ll crush it as I make my escape.

* * *

A set of keys jangles at the door. He must be back. At least I hope it’s him. I never hear anyone else here, but then again, I’m sure that’s because the house is huge. Too many places for someone to hide.

The door flies open as Brian marches in, carrying a mini fridge.

I slant my head to the side from the bed, brows rising.

“What are you doing?” My voice is as curious as my face probably appears.

“What does it look like? I brought you a fridge so you won’t bitch about thirst and hunger. I’ve bought stuff to fill it. Give me a second, and I’ll hook it up.”

“Thank you,” I say in the most gracious voice I can muster.

He carries the fridge to the corner. Even through his black hoodie, I can see his biceps straining, wanting to break free. I’d pay to see him without those clothes on, doing whatever he’s doing.

My body tingles at the thought, making my plan much easier to accomplish. Being attracted to the man you need to fuck is a lot better than being physically repulsed by him.

Setting the fridge down, he plugs it in. I stand there biting the corner of my thumbnail, watching him like a voyeur as he squats in black sweats, his ass as muscular as the rest of him.

I’m suddenly warm everywhere, slipping into the trap of our mutual attraction. I run my fingers down my neck, the pulse beneath my skin biting into my flesh. The desire for those rough, masculine hands all over my body is overwhelming.

The need to fuck him, yet hurt him, battles for space in my head, both weaving through my heart. And I do have every intention to hurt him. Just because I want to sleep with him doesn’t change that.

Once he has the fridge situated, he walks back to the door, carrying in a couple of paper bags. Crouching down, he begins emptying them, stocking the fridge with bottles. Rising to my feet, I head toward him with every intention of setting my plan in motion.

When I’m right beside him, I lower myself, reaching into a bag and taking out a few containers of Greek yogurt while he places a carton of mixed berries in the fridge.

He side-eyes me. “I’ve got this.”

My mouth tilts up at the corner. “By the looks of you, I’m sure you can handle plenty.” I reach out a hand, a finger landing on his shoulder. “But I wanted to help.”

His jaw pulses as our eyes connect, and my heart plummets into the pit of my stomach. I let my nail slowly trail down his arm, our mutual gaze drifting into a state of vulnerability neither one of us wants to surrender to.

His unrelenting gaze is so powerful, it has the force to shatter my resolve, forgetting the plan I want so badly to work.

His hooded eyes caress a path from my lips down to the top of my breasts, hidden under a thin scrap of fabric. I suddenly feel claustrophobic in my tank top. The hunger in his eyes robs me of all my breaths, my finger still glued to his thick muscles.

He releases a low, sharp exhale before his palm snaps around my wrist, yanking it away.

“Don’t ever touch me again,” he growls deep in his chest.

But I don’t think he means it. Not with the way he’s still gripping my hand. Not with the way his eyes can’t seem to stop drinking me in, savoring every bit of my face.

It’s okay to be attracted to your kidnapper, right? Is there a handbook on this? I mean, I was into him before I knew what he was capable of, so this isn’t some kind of Stockholm syndrome thing, right?

But it still feels dirty. A good kind of dirty. Like I want to shower with him instead of wash his filth off me. And he’s filthy, all right.

“I’m sorry if my touch somehow offended you.” My voice grows weak as my eyes fall downcast, hoping he believes the show. “I’m sorry if I’m not the type of woman you’d normally go for.” I start getting up, trying to pull myself out of his fastened grip. “I’ll, ah…” I tug at my lower lip. “Go back to…”

Before I can attempt to walk away, his arm curls around the small of my back, pulling me flush to his side, one of my legs falling into his lap. Our gazes meet, raging through my well-constructed wall.

His heavy breaths mingle with mine, our lips falling closer, barely anything between them, both of our chests rising and falling with every frazzled exhale.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he stamps out, his erotic growl pulsating over my trembling lips.