Page 17 of The Boss
Leif didn’t move at first. He simply watched her, his eyes focused and consuming, and for a terrifying, thrilling moment, she thought he might devour her whole without ever touching her. The silence pressed in, electric. Her heart pounded so hardshe thought he must hear it. Her nipples tightened against the lace, betraying her arousal, and she cursed inwardly.
Finally, he moved. Slowly. Deliberately. He stepped into her space until his breath brushed against her cheek. One hand lifted, his knuckles grazing her shoulder before trailing down the curve of her arm. He turned her gently, tilting her into the light spilling from above. His touch was clinical, yes, but there was hunger beneath it, barely leashed. She knew it in the way his thumb lingered on her hip, in the way his palm pressed against her spine as though memorizing the line ofit.
“You’ve got a scrape here,” he murmured, his fingers brushing her ribs. The contact was feather-light but it lit her nerves like fire. “Another along your thigh. Superficial. You’ll live.”
The words should’ve reassured her. Instead they made her shiver, because his voice carried something more, possession and certainty. He was assessing her as if she already belonged tohim.
Her pulse jumped. “Are you finished?”
His lips curved faintly, wickedly. “Not even close.”
Before she could speak, his hand slid up again, stopping just beneath her breast. He didn’t touch more than that, but the heat of his palm seared through the thin lace, branding her. She gasped, asharp sound she tried to swallow.
“You’re shaking,” he said softly.
“I’m cold,” she lied.
He leaned closer, mouth brushing the edge of her ear, his voice a soft growl. “No, you’re not.”
Her body betrayed her with a shudder that wasn’t fear, and definitely wasn’t cold. His breath warmed her skin, and she had to bite her lip to stop the moan clawing its way out. She should’ve pushed him back, should’ve demanded space, but all she managed was to stand trembling under his hand, waiting for what he’d donext.
“You’re not dying,” he said finally, drawing back just enough to look her in the eyes. His gaze was fierce, unrelenting. “Good.”
But he didn’t let her go. His thumb stroked once across her hip, atouch far too intimate for an examination. She sucked in a breath, every nerve screaming with awareness.
“Leif...” It came out strangled, half warning, halfplea.
His eyes darkened further, satisfaction curling in their depths. He had her pinned without force, held by nothing more than his presence and her own traitorous desire. He knewit.
And worse—so did she.
“Shower,” he ordered next. “We need to get the blood off. All of it.”
Her heart stuttered. He didn’t sayyou. He saidwe. And when he took her wrist again, pulling her toward the massive marble bathroom, she didn’t resist.
The shower roared to life, steam filling the glass enclosure as Leif stripped with ruthless efficiency. Holster, shirt, trousers, all discarded in sharp, purposeful movements. His body was all brutal power—broad chest, honed muscle, the kind of frame carved by violence and control. The lion ink of his Brand coiled across his palm, faintly glowing as though it sensed her, called to her. Her own palm pulsed in response, the matching mark alive beneath herskin.
Mariah’s breath hitched. The air between them vibrated with it—destiny, want, the unholy fusion ofboth.
He turned on her. “In.”
She hesitated only long enough to know he noticed. For a flicker of a second she braced for him to insist she strip the rest of the way, to bare herself completely under his command. The fact that he didn’t startled her—surprised her more than she wanted to admit. Then she stepped into the steam, the heat wrapping her, making her skin slick and sensitive. He followed, closing the glass door with a finality that echoed louder than anylock.
Water cascaded over them, washing crimson streaks down the drain. Leif took control without asking, cupping her chin, tilting her head back, letting the water sluice through her hair. His fingers dragged over her scalp, down the curve of her neck, along her shoulders. Each touch lingered too long, too slow, making her shiver.
He reached for the shampoo and worked it through her hair, his big hands massaging her scalp, his thumbs pressing into the tense knots at her temples until her knees nearly buckled. She clutched at his wrist, torn between pushing him away and begging him not tostop.
He guided her under the spray again, rinsing away suds and blood, his touch maddeningly tender for a man built for violence. The gentleness only sharpened the ache pooling between her thighs. When his hand slipped down her back, gliding over the dip of her spine to cup her ass, she gasped, heat rushing throughher.
“You’re mine,” he murmured, his tone lethal. His thumb traced the line of her cheekbone. “Fate says it. The Brand says it. Your body says it.”
She should’ve denied him. Should’ve told him the Brand was a curse, not a gift. But the truth throbbed hot and undeniable deep in her core. She was wet for him, trembling for him, and he hadn’t done more than kissher.
“Leif...” Her voice broke. Warning? Plea? She didn’tknow.
He moved behind her, his chest a wall of heat at her back. His hands spanned her waist, sliding up, up, until they cupped her breasts. Her gasp echoed in the steam as he squeezed, thumbs brushing over her nipples through the soaked lace. Her knees nearly buckled. He rolled the sensitive peaks between finger and thumb, wringing another moan from her throat, then bent to drag his teeth along the curve of her shoulder, biting lightly before soothing with his tongue.
“Not hurt here,” he whispered against her ear, nipping at the lobe. “But sensitive. So damn sensitive.”
