Page 117 of The Heart of a Villain

Slapping his hand away, I step back and lick my lips, finding the strength to push the words out that probably will put finality on this… whirlwind of encounter. “How easy it is to come to me when my father is out of town, isn’t it?”

He stills and I laugh, covering my mouth so it wouldn’t turn into a sob.

“No guilt and all determination. But what will happen once he’s back?” My splayed palm stops whatever he wants to say. “Don’t bother. Let’s just pretend that our time on the island never happened. After all, what we had wasn’t even a relationship. What do I know about them anyway?” I take another step back and look around the library. “My friends are waiting for me and I need to find a book.” Hopefully, he gets the hint to get lost and won’t follow me to the club.

Not sure how strong my resistance to the actual temptation is.

Spinning around, I quickly walk to the far away bookshelves, searching for the fairy tales, and find them almost at the end, stepping between them and running my finger through several titles and frowning when I don’t find Beauty and the Beast.

Where is it?

I glance up and groan inwardly that somehow it ended up on the few shelves above, too high for my height even with high heels.

I jump a few times, huffing in frustration when all I manage to do is snag the book but not push it down considering how thick the shelf is with all the tomes occupying it.

How the hell am I supposed to get this book in my current situation? Libraries usually have ladders, but I don’t see any in sight.

Huffing once again, I rise on my tiptoes, determined to get the damned thing, when I feel instant heat surrounding me that has nothing to do with my coat.

And everything to do with a man standing behind me, who reaches out and easily takes out the book for me, and I twist around, trapped between the bookshelf and his hard chest while he rests one arm above me and his other hand holds the book. “All you had to do was ask.” He shifts closer, the tips of his leather shoes touching my high heels, and I plaster my back firmer against the shelf, although it does little to minimize the contact or my reaction toward him.

“Thanks.” I rip the book from him and press it to my chest along with the rose. How fitting, seriously. “Now if you’ll excuse me…” I trail off, pushing at his chest, but he stays unmovable. “Rush, let me go.”

“You don’t forgive me,” he says instead, completely ignoring my request, and leans forward, his breath mingling with mine, and I tip my head backward until it rests against the bookshelf. “It’s all right. I have all the time in the world to prove to you that I mean what I say and whatever I want I get.”

I raise my chin high. “We don’t get everything we want, Rush. And besides, you should be used to it.” Since he says nothing, I elaborate, although words taste like acid on my tongue and the green monster awakens within me just at the thought of him with other women. Which is so stupid. “You’re thirty-six. I’m sure you’ve ended relationships with plenty of women to realize sometimes people just drift apart.” I push at his chest again but of course meet the same result as earlier. “Rush.” Why does he have to make it so difficult? I’m doing my best to pay no attention to the zipping electricity traveling through my system at my touch or how his nearness brings up all the memories.

“I’ve never been in a relationship, so I wouldn’t know.”

My eyes widen at this admission.

“You, on the other hand, have been in one for years.” The muscles on his neck flex when he tightens his hold on the bookshelf, his knuckles probably turning white judging by the tension filling the air. “And that man will be present in your live for forever.”

Is he kidding me? Pierre and I have hardly done anything physical, yet he makes it sound as if I subject him to eternal misery for facing my lover. And I try to shut up the part of me that thrives at his jealousy, welcoming it even. Maybe his psychotic tendencies are rubbing off on me? “I don’t see how this is any of your concern. I’m not yours.”

His eyes flash in warning, but I ignore it.

“Besides, whatever we had, ended on the island. We fell into lust and I guess it just vanished within time because I feel nothing.” The lie slips past my lips before I can stop it, the petty me wanting to shove in his face that he doesn’t have any effect on me and by how his mouth curves into a sinister smile, I know I’ve done a horrible mistake.

You don’t throw a challenge without repercussions.

“Nothing, princess?” he asks and my fingers dig into the book harsher, my grip on it tightening while I hold it between us, so our chest wouldn’t brush against each other and he won’t be able to come closer even if all we have left is several inches separating us.

“That’s right.”

“Then I guess when I do this”—he places his hot palm on my cheek, cupping it while his thumb brushes against my lips, scorching heat washing over me and tugging on my nerve endings while his thumb travels lower to my chin—“you feel nothing?”

“Yes.” I grab his hand, ready to pull it away, but freeze when the sheer need in his gaze hitches the air in my throat. “Stop it, Rush.”

Of course he doesn’t listen to my request because even I can hear the desperation in my voice, begging him for two things simultaneously.

End this madness that’s lust between us and feed the hunger in me his presence inspires.

In this moment, I hate myself for being so weak against his charms, not enough to truly stop him, and we both know it.

If I told him a firm no, he’d let go, but because he hears the trembling in my voice, he proceeds to do whatever he wishes and in this dragging me deeper into the lustful haze that should be forbidden for me.

“Why would I? You don’t feel anything, Aileen, right?” His tempting voice creates invisible ropes around my mind, almost hypnotizing me with his softly spoken words that are designed to drive me insane and straight into his arms.

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