Page 54 of Sinful Desires
It was barely a word, but it got my attention.
I pouted. “Let me guess. Money?”
He let out a scoff, crossing his arms.
I arched a brow and took another step. “Power?”
He remained silent, his grey eyes scanning my face with a focus that made my skin feel tight.
“Women?” I asked, voice dropping.
His jaw shifted, his tongue running slowly across his teeth.
“Or?…” I stopped in front of him, my chest brushing his jacket. I rose onto my toes, mouth grazing the shell of his ear as a grin curled against his skin. “Is it me, soldier?”
His breath caressed my cheek.
I pulled back with a tilt of my head. “Am I your weakness?”
His hand slid to my back, pulling me closer until I felt every rise and fall of his chest, every breath he took. His other hand curled around my chin, forcing my face up as his gaze dropped to my mouth.
“You keep poking the wolf,” he murmured.
My pulse kicked hard. He didn’t tell me I was wrong. And with the way his eyes darkened, I had a very dangerous, delicious feeling that I was right. My heart nearly flipped out of my chest from excitement.
He dipped his head, lips barely grazing mine, a whisper of a touch that burned too hot for something that never even landed.
“Maybe I want to see it bite.” I watched him through half-lidded eyes, breath catching, mouth still parted where his had nearly touched mine.
He didn’t kiss me. He hovered, close enough to let the promise of it drip all the way down. I could see the way his jaw clenched, the way his hand twitched. His breath was hot against my mouth.
“The last person who thought it was smart to poke me?” he said with a cold laugh. “They dragged what was left of him out of the Atlantic. Body parts scattered. His burned skull mailed to his family as a parting gift.”
I gulped as his thumb stroked over my lips once.
“Unless you’re begging to end up on that same list,” his voice dropped, dark and quiet, “I’d suggest for you to behave,beauté.”
I stumbled back, breath catching in my throat, retreating like I’d been burned.
God. Sometimes I really did forget. I’d forgotten that the man standing in front of me wasn’t just the walking headache I liked to annoy, or the heat I kept wanting pressed against me.
He was a killer. A trained, cold-blooded killer who had already murdered someone right in front of me without blinking. He could kill me. Right here. And the only thing he would feel afterward would be the recoil.
And yet, here I was, still standing there, heart racing, skin tingling, liking the way I’d felt pressed against him far too much for someone with any self-preservation left.
My body really had the worst taste in men.
I dragged my gaze away, pulse still pounding. “Well, lucky for you, buddy, I happen to love my body exactly the way it is. So, let’s go,” I muttered, keeping my eyes anywhere but on his. “You’ve got a plane to catch.”
I walked away and didn’t look back. Not even once.
Dangerous men had always found their way into my life. I had been the target of their anger more times than I cared to remember, and I could not afford to let another one sink his teeth in.
I was tired. Tired of surviving. Tired of pretending I was immune to the damage.
But even in the quiet parts of me, the ones I hated most, something still clung to the instinct to protect myself.
As if there was anything left worth saving.
