Page 40 of Scars He Gave Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 2)

“I don’t want to stop. I want to kiss you here.” I glide my finger down her spine to her waistband.

“And here.”

I drag it around to her belly button.

“And here.” I can’t get enough of touching her and as I’m about to slip lower, she catches my wrist. This time, she doesn’t move, doesn’t push me away, just holds on, smoothing her thumb over the pulse point in my wrist, with the same gentle grip she uses to stroke my cock.

Fuck. I need her. Now. I want her.Now.

“Let’s get out of here.”

She drops my hand and shakes her head. “I have to work.”

Which brings me back around to why I’m here. The purpose of my visit was not to coax my dick into straining against my pants, so hard it hurts, nor to leave me with no chance of easing it anytime soon.

“I need your help.”

In response, she just stares at me with those doe eyes. Her breath hasn’t evened out. I’m so ready to be inside her. I’m raging that I can’t be.

“Corrie, I’m not asking for any other reason than you’re good at your job.”

Now she’s the vixen with her hand under the table, in my lap, thumb moving high on my thigh, so close to where I want her. “Are you trying to get me back to your place?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.” I grin. It’s almost an act of surrender. I’m tough when I need to be, unbreakable, fucking determined. But this girl—thiswoman—destroys me. Turns me into something weak. “Whenever and however I can.”

Even her head shake turns me on. “That’s finished. We’re finished. Because you’re a liar.”

“A liar?”

“Yes,” she hisses, eyes gleaming. “You made my dad lie on your behalf. A rich uncle leaving money for college? I bet it made you so fucking happy that I bought that lie hook, line, and sinker. You probably loved that.”

I sit back, trying not to show that I’m a little taken aback. Was she eavesdropping when I talked to Arthur on the porch? Fuck, I should’ve been more careful. Stupid. I was too overwhelmed by memories of a past I left behind to remember shit as basic as keep my fucking voice down.

But it doesn’t really matter. The money was a long time ago. I was just making things right. If she wants to be mad about that, fine—have at it.

I want to tell her the truth: I’ve never lied about anything that matters. But telling her that won’t soften the anger in her eyes, won’t make her light up the room with her smile, won’t end with us rolling around in my bed.

Because the lies are in the past. What matters is what’s happening right now. Our past coming back to bite us. Feelings we thought were long gone resurfacing and calling everything into question.

“You’re scared,” I say.

“No.” The word is simple and short, but the implication is long and loud.

“Oh, yes, you are. I hurt you and you’re afraid I’m going to hurt you again.” I have her figured out. “A blind man could see it.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid.” She narrows her eyes. “And while we’re listening character flaws, in addition to being a liar, you’re also a murderer.”

Normally, I would look around to make sure no one heard her, but I’m locked into her gaze. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“All you’ve ever done is hurt me.”

Not something I can deny. Well, if that’s the arrow she chooses to shoot, so be it. My lip curls. “Well, now you’re going to help me. One way or the other.”

Her eyes flutter shut while she breathes deep. “You’re threatening me.”

“I’m telling you what’s going to happen. No more and no less.”

She breathes silently. She’s thinking. Weighing it in her head. What will sayingNomean? What about sayingYes?She must see what I see: all roads lead to Rome. One way or another, a Bratva man always gets what he wants.

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