Page 44 of Captured Heart

“Or what?” he challenges, his smirk widening.

I feel my fists tighten, the urge to swing so strong it’s like a physical weight pressing down on me. But I don’t. I can’t. The last thing I need is for someone to call the cops if a fight breaks out. I escaped assault charges the last time. I don’t think I’ll be so lucky the second time around.

Again, I do my best to ignore him. “Let’s go, Katie.”

She crosses her arms, leaning back in her stool. “Why do you even care? You don’t want me. You made that pretty clear. Is it so wrong if someone else does?”

“It’s not that I don’t—” I stop myself, swallowing the words. She’s drunk and angry, and this isn’t the time or place for this conversation.

Douchebag pipes up again. “You’re inserting yourself where you’re not wanted. Why don’t you leave and let us enjoy our night?”

“See?” Katie says. “At least he’s interested.”

The guy smirks again, and I have to look away before I do something stupid.

“Yeah.” I lean closer to her ear so only she can hear me. “He’s very interested...inonething, and he’s gonna have to go through me to get it. You’ve had too much to drink, so I’m not leaving without you. And because you’re so capable of making your own decisions, I’m gonna give you a choice. You can either get up and walk out of here gracefully...or I’m going to toss you over my shoulder and carry you out.”

Her eyes widen, and she stares at me, wondering if I would actually go through with that. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would. Try me.” I hold her gaze, daring her to test my patience.

She doesn’t. Instead, she huffs and slides off the stool, stumbling slightly. I catch her arm to steady her, and she glares up at me. “You’re such a jerk.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll thank me in the morning.”

Her date protests but doesn’t try to physically stop me when we start walking toward the door.

KATELYN SWAYS SLIGHTLYas we walk up the steps to her front door, her hands fumbling through her purse for the keys. “Where are they?” she mutters, digging deeper until the jingling sound of metal catches her attention.

I watch silently as she finally unlocks the door and steps inside.

“You don’t have to come in,” she says, kicking off her heels. “I can take it from here.”

“Stairs and alcohol can be a deadly combination. I’ll leave once I know you’re safe in bed.

She groans irritably and accepts that without a fight. She doesn’t bother turning on the lights, her drunken coordination leading her straight to the switch for the hallway lamp. Warm light floods the space, casting long shadows on the walls.

As she moves inside, she bumps into the table, and I use that slight jolt to turn the vase slightly toward the wall. It wouldn’t look suspicious at all. I know there’s a camera embedded in that ceramic shell, and the last thing I need is someone catching sight of me walking around his house again. Not tonight. Tonight, I have the perfect opportunity to get the job done, and I don’t need any distractions or interruptions.

I follow her upstairs, staying close behind, one hand ready to catch her if she trips. She’s quiet now, not as argumentative as she was at the bar. The stillness makes her seem almost fragile, and it tightens something in my chest I don’t want to examine too closely.

She walks into her bedroom, and I linger outside. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for, but I stay rooted in place. I hear a humph and some exasperated groans, and eventually, she releases an aggravated breath.

“Alex,” she calls.

“Yeah,” I reply, sticking my head in.

“I, uh, I need to...change,” she says, struggling to tug at the zipper on the side of her dress. Her hands are clumsy, and she huffs out her frustration. “But this damn thing is stuck. Can you...” She shuts her eyes like she’s hating herself for asking. “Can you help me, please?”

Shit!

The last thing I should be doing right now is putting my hands on her, especially when her dress has already proven that it can turn me into a savage in a matter of seconds. But she’s looking at me with those big, expectant eyes, and I can’t exactly say no.

“Sure.”

I step closer, my knuckles lightly brushing her ribs as I find the zipper. The skin beneath my fingertips is warm and soft, so soft I have to resist the urge to press my fingers into her flesh. My throat tightens, and I have to focus all my energy on keeping my hand steady as I slide the zipper down.

It’s maddeningly slow, each inch exposing more of her bare skin. Her head tilts slightly, and a soft sigh escapes her lips as the tension of the fabric loosens. I freeze for a second, fighting the surge of heat coursing through me.

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