Page 42 of His Ruthless Claim

"Your darkness doesn't scare me, Luca." Her thumb traces my jaw. "Maybe that should scare you."

It does. More than she knows.

20

SKYE

Istep into Skye's boutique, the familiar scent of leather and expensive perfume hitting my senses. The security measures I've installed are working perfectly - pressure sensors, cameras, panic buttons. Everything designed to keep her safe.

Then I see him.

Some fucking suit is draped across her counter, designer watch flashing as he gestures, drawing another melodic laugh from Skye. Her head tilts back, exposing the elegant line of her throat. His eyes track the movement like a predator.

My fingers find my watch automatically, twisting the band. The familiar metal grounds me as unfamiliar emotions tear through my chest. This visceral need to stake a claim, to eliminate the threat - it's primitive. Uncontrolled. Everything I've trained myself not to be.

"The fit is perfect." His voice carries across the boutique. "But maybe I should try on something else. Get your expert opinion again?"

Skye's amber eyes catch mine before she can respond. A slight smirk plays at the corners of her mouth - the one shealways wears when she's about to say something designed to crack my composure.

"Sorry, my expert opinion is needed elsewhere." She straightens, every movement deliberately graceful.

The suit turns, his easy smile faltering as he takes in my presence. Recognition floods his features. He backs away from the counter, from Skye, like he's been burned. Smart man. Most people have that reaction when they realize who I am. What I am.

I approach the counter, each step measured despite the foreign urge to rush forward, to put myself between them. My watch ticks against my wrist - steady, controlled. Everything I need to be right now.

Without taking my eyes off the man, some low level runner I'm sure, I move behind the counter with deliberate steps, each movement a calculated display of power. The suit retreats another inch, but the distance isn't enough to satisfy this foreign darkness clawing at my chest.

My hand finds Skye's waist, fingers splaying across the silk of her dress. I pull her against me, feeling her sharp intake of breath. The curve of her body fits perfectly against mine, like she was designed to be here. The thought is dangerous - emotional - but I can't stop myself from tightening my grip.

"I believe you're done here." My voice comes out low, controlled, despite the possessive need burning through my veins.

Skye leans into my touch, that familiar smirk still playing at her lips. She knows exactly what she's doing - she always does. It's part of what makes her so fucking dangerous.

"Thanks for stopping by." Her tone carries none of the warmth it held moments ago. "If you want to leave the suit on the bench, I'll charge it to your account and send it to you."

The suit's eyes drop to where my hand curves around her waist, understanding finally dawning across his features. "Of course. I'll just-" He gestures vaguely toward the changing area, already backing away.

I watch him head to the back, tracking his movements until he disappears into the sectioned off fitting rooms. My thumb traces small circles against Skye's hip, an unconscious gesture I only notice when she shifts against me.

"Jealous, Luca?" Her voice carries that edge of challenge I've come to expect. She twists in my grip, amber eyes searching my face for any crack in my composure.

I should step back. Should put distance between us until I can analyze this loss of control. Instead, my fingers dig deeper into her silk-covered skin.

"You know exactly what you're doing." The words come out harder than intended, revealing more than I'm comfortable with.

"Trying to provoke a reaction?" My lips brush against her ear, voice pitched low enough that only she can hear. "Always pushing, testing my control."

I hate that the guy is still in the store, that she ever smiled at him at all. His presence grates against my nerves, knowing he was just leaning across this counter, trying to catch Skye's attention.

Shifting us, I press forward, caging her between my body and the glass display case. She can't move and no one can see what I'm about to do from this anger. The silk of her dress whispers against my suit as she shifts, trying to maintain professional distance despite our position. But I'm done with distance.

My hands find her hips, fingers splaying wide before sliding down. The hem of her dress rises inch by inch as I trace patterns against her thighs. Her breath catches - a small, desperate sound that shoots straight through me.

"Quiet." I tighten my grip, the pads of my fingers pressing into soft skin. "Unless you want everyone to notice."

A customer browses nearby racks, completely oblivious. Skye's hands grip the counter edge, knuckles white with tension. She's fighting to keep her expression neutral, but I can feel the tremors running through her body.

"Someone could see," she whispers, but her legs part slightly - an invitation I don't hesitate to accept.

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