Page 42 of Wilde and Deadly

Because after two days of watching her bleed, watching her break, watching her fight something too big for her to handle alone?—

He couldn’t keep up the lie any longer.

Rowan’s face paled, and for a moment, she looked more terrified than he’d ever seen her. The knife trembled slightly in her grip.

“What?” She laughed, but the sound was too high and brittle. “Uh, no. You’re wrong. You’re confused. You’re?—”

He cupped her face in one hand and brushed his thumb over her lips, silencing her. “You don’t get to decide how I feel, Hellcat.”

For a moment, they stood frozen in a silent battle of wills.

Rowan’s eyes blazed with a mix of anger and something else—fear, maybe, or longing. She jerked her head away from his touch. “You can’t love me,” she said, her voice cracking. “You don’t know me.”

Jesus, this woman. She was infuriating and stubborn and impossible. She was probably going to be the death of him. And, still, he wanted her more than his next breath.

“I know you’re stubborn as hell and too damn proud for your own good. I know you’re fiercely loyal to those you care about. And I think you care about me more than you want to admit, which is why you’ve been keeping me at arm’s length.” Slowly, he moved his other hand down to grasp her wrist. “Put the knife down, Ro. Let me in.”

She pressed her lips together in a tight line, refusing to give an inch. But he could see the weariness under the shadows in her eyes, the tension coiled in her muscles. She was running on fumes and stubbornness.

“Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Because I don’t want you hurt,” she said almost inaudibly.

He smirked at that. “You’re holding a knife to my balls.”

Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile before she caught herself. “That’s different. I know you can handle me.”

“Can I?” His voice dipped lower, teasing, dangerous.

The air between them charged with something new. Something inevitable.

She swallowed hard, her eyes darting to his lips. “You’re the only one who can.” Her grip on the knife loosened, and it clattered to the floor.

In an instant, he had her wrists pinned above her head with one hand, his body pressing her against the wall.

“Can you handle me, Ro?” he murmured, his lips a breath away from hers.

She tried to glare at him, but her eyes were dark with desire. “Fuck you, Wilde.”

“Is that a request?” He nipped at her earlobe, drawing a soft gasp from her.

“I hate you,” she whispered, but there was no venom in her words.

“No, you don’t.” His free hand slid under her shirt, caressing the soft skin of her waist. “Tell me the truth now. Who are you running from? Who hurt you?”

And, like that, her resolve crumbled. She sagged against him, burying her face in his chest. “It’s bad, Davey. Really bad.”

“Talk to me.”

“I was hired to do a job, and I didn’t do it.” She inhaled deeply as if the words had been keeping her from taking a full breath, and a knot of dread tightened in his gut.

“What kind of job?”

She simply lifted her head and stared at him with those golden cat eyes. She didn’t have to speak. She’d finally raised her shutters enough that he saw the truth all over her face.

And he didn’t like what he saw.

“Oh, Jesus.” He backed away and paced a few steps, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fuck me, Rowan.”

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