Page 45 of Torched Spades
“I do not.”
Pushing off the wall, Johnny trails the back of his hand along my jaw. “Your cheeks are flushed.” My breath hitches as his knuckles lower, grazing up and down the column of my throat. “And your pulse is racing. You came here to knock me off my game, didn’t you? Instead, your survival instinct kicked in because the balance of power has shifted.”
“Please.”
His thumb slides across my throat seconds before his grip tightens, and I’m slammed against the wall. I’m in too much shock to do anything but watch the rhythmic glide of his tongue across his teeth. “You’re out of your element, Becca. I’m in control here, not you. Does that scare you?”
“No,” I lie.
“It should.” Lifting his other hand, he flashes the playing card still tucked between his fingers and taps it against my nose.
That small show of arrogance jerks me out of my trance, and I swing my hand, batting that stupid card out of my face. “Typical male aggression is a first-year undergrad study, Mr. Malone. If you want to intimidate me, you’ll have to work harder than that.”
“Bold words coming from someone I had pinned against her office door last week.”
Bastard.
“I told you that was a mistake.”
Johnny's hold tightens, and I bite my lip, a reaction that draws a low growl from his chest. “A mistake doesn’t repeat itself.”
“Don’t.”
“Then stop me.” Sliding his hand up my throat, he cups my jaw and brushes his thumb across my bottom lip. “All you have to do is say the word. Put a hand up. Push me away. Do it. I fucking dare you.” I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. No protest. No rebuttal. Just a rattled breath as his thumb strokes harder. “But we both know you won’t because you want me as much as I want you. You just won’t admit it.”
“The rules—”
“Are made to be broken. Have you ever stepped over a line in your life, Becca? Or have you always done what everyone expects of you?”
I twist my head to the side, releasing his hold.Always with the damn taunts.One drags me toward the edge; the next shoves me away from it. Being near this man is like being strapped to a see-saw. “And who is ‘everyone?’”
“Peers, patients…Daddy,” he says, and I stiffen, a visceral reaction that prompts him to flash a wolfish smile. “That one stung, didn’t it?”
“I am my own woman, Mr. Malone.”
“Prove it.”
I’m so wound up, I don’t know if it’s anger, lust, or pride that sends me careening off the see-saw. All I know is when I see that damn playing card still tucked between his fingers, twelve years of psychological training flies out the window.
He wants a demonstration…?
No problem.
Holding his stare, I pluck the card from between his fingers and crush it in my fist. Like a flipped light switch, his expression goes from fierce to feral.
Uh-oh.
I’m already forming an apology when my wrist is slammed against the wall and his mouth crashes onto mine. At first, I freeze, unsure if this is just a cruel prelude to his revenge, but the second he drives his tongue past my lips while fisting my ponytail, I come undone. However, when he twists the strands around his hand and yanks my head back, I question everything I’ve ever known.
My job. My life. My resolve. My morals.
Then I forget all of them the moment I taste him. On instinct, I push him away, but there’s no real force behind it. Not when his teeth sink into my bottom lip, drawing blood his tongue greedily laps up, and not when it dips back inside, demanding compliance I instantly give.
Johnny’s kisses are unlike anything I’ve ever experienced—a diabolical mix of fireworks and damnation, and suddenly I go from pushing him away to fisting my hands in his shirt and dragging him closer.
“Christ,” he mumbles, dropping hot, urgent kisses down my neck.
“Johnny…” My chest tightens as I choke out his name.
