Page 114 of Shadowed Vows: Ghost
"What's the matter, little journalist? Cat got your tongue?"
I want to come back with a biting retort, but my brain seems to have short-circuited. All I can focus on is the heat of his body so close to mine, the intensity in his eyes as he looks at me.
"This is... unprofessional," I manage to say, though my body is screaming for more of his touch.
Kade chuckles, a low sound that vibrates through me. "We passed professional a long time ago, Alina."
He's right, of course.
"What do you want from me?" I whisper, searching his face for answers.
Kade's expression grows serious. "Everything," he says simply.
That one word hits me like a ton of bricks. Every instinct screams that I need to get the hell out of here. Kade is seriously bad news—I'm just starting to grasp how risky he really is. But instead of fleeing, I feel myself pulled toward him, unable to resist the dangerous attraction.
"I don't know if I can give you that," I admit, my voice barely audible.
Kade's fingers tighten in my hair, not painfully, but enough to remind me of his strength.
"You can," he says with absolute certainty. "And you will."
My breath catches in my throat. Part of me wants to argue, to assert my independence. But a larger part—a part I'm only now discovering—wants to submit to him completely.
"Kade, I..." I start, but he releases my hair to silence me with a finger to my lips.
"Shh," he murmurs. "No more talking. It's time you learned to listen, Alina."
thirty-four
Alina
Kade releases my hair and takes a step back, his eyes never leaving mine. My breath catches as he peels off his tactical vest, then grips the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head in one fluid motion.
My eyes widen at the sight of his muscular torso, but then I notice the angry red marks blooming across his ribs. Bruises are already starting to form where the bullet struck his vest.
"Oh my god, Kade," I gasp. "You're hurt."
I instinctively move toward him, wanting to check the injury, but freeze when his dark gaze snaps to mine. The intensity in his eyes roots me to the spot.
"From now on, you need to listen to what I say," Kade says, his voice low and commanding. "No more arguing. No more putting yourself in danger. Understood?"
A shiver runs through me at his tone. The journalist in me bristles at being told what to do.
"I survived just fine," I counter, lifting my chin. "I had a plan until everything went sideways."
Something dangerous flickers in Kade's eyes. He glances pointedly at my wrists, where purpling bruises from the restraints stand out against my skin.
"Is that what you call surviving just fine?" His voice is deadly quiet. "Take off your clothes. All of them."
My eyes widen at his command. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." His voice is calm but brooks no argument. "If it weren't for these—" he gently traces one bruised wrist, "—you'd already be tied to my bed."
Heat floods my cheeks as I process his words. My heart pounds so loudly I'm sure he must be able to hear it. I should be outraged, should tell him to go to hell. But my body has other ideas.
"Pretty demanding for someone who just took a bullet," I say, but my fingers are already at my top button, betraying my defiance.
His fingers wrap around my wrist—not painfully, but with unmistakable strength.
