Page 11 of Injustice and Absolution

Soft, dark-brown eyes.

A maturity that can only come with life experience and hard work.

The only man who has stirred any desire in me is the one I can never have.

“I don’t really know…” I brush off her question.

“Well, maybe we’ll figure out what it is tonight. There will be lots of guys to choose from.”

“Can’t wait,” I lie. “I’ll be inside if you need me.”

I walk toward the rear entrance of the house, but before I can put one foot inside, someone steps into my path. I look up into the very eyes I was just picturing and begin to tremble. The soft velvet gaze that once brought me comfort has been replaced with a fire-like intensity.

Lust swirls deep inside me. My heart rate increases, sending blood rushing to my core before I even realize what’s happening.

Instantly, I duck my head to avoid his stare. It’s too much to take in.

“Sorry,” I mutter and step out of his way.

Only, he tries to stand aside for me to pass too, and we end up in an awkward dance in the open doorframe. Finally, he places his hands on my shoulders and moves me to the other side of the wide doorway, allowing each of us to finally pass through it.

A sudden, ravenous craving consumes me.

We lock eyes again, and the burst of electricity that blazes within his can’t be missed. It’s as though my desire lit the spark that traveled through me and into him. My lips part, unable to control my lust.

The air around us evaporates, and the wooden boards beneath my feet feel as though they’re being swallowed by the earth and taking me with them.

The way his heart rate quickens, the thick, bulging vein in his neck pulsating so violently I can see it beating even in the shadow of his chin, tells me he notices the shift too.

What the hell?

This look is vastly different from any other I’ve seen from him before. And my reaction to his touch is a stark contrast to the last time he touched me—four years ago when he gripped my chin on the stairs and demanded I tell him my darkest secret.

What the hell has changed since then?

A lot, clearly.

Before I have another moment to overthink exactly what is happening, he tears his gaze from me and shouts at Maggie. Walking out onto the deck, he suddenly appears completely unfazed by our connection.

“Isn’t there anything else you can be doing? I’m sure you can find something more important than sweeping leaves off the deck.”

Not wanting to get caught in the crossfire, I scurry into the house, and I don’t stop moving until I get to my bedroom. Dropping down onto my bed, I stare at the ceiling.

Did I imagine the look he gave me? The sensation of my heart plummeting into my stomach? The desire erupting from every nerve ending in my body?

Holy hell, whatwasthat?

And why do I have to feel like this towardanyman, let alone Royce? If Maggie ever found out...

No.

This is ridiculous.

The only logical explanation for it is that Royce has given me what I’ve always dreamed of. He got my father out of my life, and this is how my fucked-up, daddy-issue riddled brain is choosing to react to that.

I’ve never had someone like him in my life before. Knowing—or at least thinking I know—what he did for me has forced my mind to place him in the role of my protector. The kind of person who I should have always had in my life but never did.

My gratitude toward him is being misconstrued as want.

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