Page 332 of Hate Mates

Her date places a jacket over her shoulders, the one she was wearing when she entered the restaurant. It’s long sleeved, falling below her knees, but it appears lightweight. Nothing too heavy for a balmy summer evening in The Hamptons.

As they make their way outside, I throw a couple of twenty-dollar bills down to cover the cost of my water before following them. Keeping my gaze averted, I stride across the parking lot to my SUV, climbing inside just as Athena is driven away.

Putting the vehicle in drive and keeping a steady distance, I make my decision. I trail after them.

Chapter Eight

ATHENA

Henry talks about himself the whole drive to my house. I umm and ahh when necessary though I am not really listening. For the two and a half hours we sat in that restaurant, it has been much of the same.

I know everything about this man. From the time he gets up in the morning, to how many coffees he drinks in a day, to his family tree.

Yet he knows nothing about me. He didn’t ask me one real question past formalities.

I’m unsettled, irritable. The whisper of annoyance slithering under my skin, making me feel reckless. My previous assessment of Henry was wrong. So wrong. Yes, he is nice, soft, but he is also a self-centered idiot who can’t see anything past himself.

He would be a good husband if I didn’t need or crave attention. Most likely I would be left to my own devices with a black credit card I could use as I wished. Soft touches and sex once a week, when he desired. But it wouldn’t be for fun. It would be for one thing only. To impregnate me and provide him with an heir.

Though some women would be satisfied by such an arrangement, I want more. I need more.

I want calloused rough hands touching me as they pleased, using me for their pleasure. I want a spark of darkness. Butterflies in my belly and a racing heart.

Henry does none of that to me.

But there is one man who elicits such feelings from me…

The car coming to a stop draws me from my reverie.

Glancing up, I see the black metal gates that lead to my house.

Before Henry can reach the keypad to punch in the code for entrance, I place a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “You can drop me here. No need to come in.”

He frowns before smoothing his features, but I see the tightness in his jaw. “Are you sure? I was going to check in with your father.”

“Quite sure. It’s late, so no doubt Dad will be sleeping,” I rush the words out, undoing my seatbelt before he can argue further.

His disappointment is clear, though he smiles through it. Reaching up, he cups my jaw. I resist the urge to flinch, lock every muscle in my body down, so as not to pull away from his touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his head dipping, lips ghosting mine.

My heart beats in my chest, my stomach churning with nausea.

But before Henry can make any real contact, the passenger door is ripped open. Fear grips me like a vise, and I scream in terror as hands grab at my forearms and pull me from the vehicle.

Through my panic fog, I hear Henry shouting, but it’s cut off when the door is slammed shut.

Fight mode kicks in and I twist in my attacker’s hold, my knee flying up, trying to make contact with his groin and disarm him, only to stop when he speaks.

“Stop fucking fighting me.”

That dark, familiar growl floats over my body, forcing me to go limp in his arms.

The butterflies return, taking flight, desire tightening my stomach, before drifting between my thighs and pooling in my panties.

I grimace as reality, that it’s this man that makes me feels so alive, hits me.

I’m so fucking screwed.

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