Page 72 of The Heart of a Villain

After our night, I don’t want his cruel words to ruin everything because he feels too much and will want to retaliate so I won’t fall for him.

The sun streams brightly into the room, showing every scar and bruise on his skin in all their gory details, and my fingers press against them, wishing to take away all the pain they have caused.

Even the memories of them.

He must have brought us downstairs at some point because we’re in his room, with birds chirping outside announcing a new day, while a soft breeze brings much-needed relief to my heated body.

I circle his neck, pulling him closer to me, and the rose is crushed between us while I smile at him. “It’s too early to be this serious, Mr. Wright.” Our mouths meet, connecting in a deep kiss in which our tongues duel for dominance, but he owns the kiss, each stab declaring how much he wants and craves to possess me.

My fingers lace in his hair, my leg hiking over his hip while he puts his knee between my thighs, and he traps my moan in the kiss while lust slowly fills my veins.

I arch my back, giving him better access to me, wishing to prolong the kiss, as I’ve never had a good “morning after,” but a groan escapes me when he tears himself away.

We both breathe heavily, and he removes the lock of hair from my face. “You’re dangerous, baby. Too tempting to resist.”

Despite pouting for being denied his touch, I wink at him. “Then don’t resist.” And maybe then the outside world with all their problems that are so big they make our relationship impossible will leave us alone for a little longer.

He traces my cheek with the tip of his finger, studying me intently, and finally bursts the happy bubble around us. “There is a boat waiting for you. You’ll have breakfast and then leave.”

“What?” I ask as he gets up, his fists clenching, and then he grabs a nearby T-shirt, putting it on to go with the jeans and shoes he’s already wearing. “What do you mean a boat is waiting for me?” Then it hits me. “Dad is here?”

And he isn’t shooting anyone? Maybe he’s negotiating?

He shakes his head. “No. I’m sending you home.”

I sit up at this, clutching the blanket and covering myself while shouting, “You’re doing what?” I huff in disbelief. He’s doing this to me again?

Right after sleeping with me, he’s coming up with some action that destroys my heart?

“I should have never used you in my plan. This is between me and your father.”

“Rush!” Is he serious right now? He decides to be noble right after I basically admitted falling for him? “You can’t do this to me!”

“Yes.” He turns to face me again, stubbornness that matches my own reflecting back at me. “I can, and I will. You won’t be caught in the crossfire. You… you mean too much to me to risk you.”

Although my heart warms at this admission, the bruises he just inflicted on me still hurt, and I shake my head. “If I mean something to you, then why are you sending me away?” I take a deep breath. “I can talk to my dad, and maybe—”

“No.” His curt reply zips annoyance over me, but I’m trying to muster up all my compassion and understand his point of view.

His protective instincts are strong; they must be multiplied with the possessiveness he feels over me, so right now, he isn’t rational.

At the same time, though, I’m so tired of finding excuses for his sudden mood swings that I want to just punch him in the face for all this crap.

“Dad loves me. If I explain that you and I are together—”

His hollow laughter fills the space, instantly casting its cold darkness that contrasts with the sun shining brightly. “Together? Oh, I can just see Lachlan’s happy face once he learns I took his daughter’s virginity.” His sarcastic jab makes me wince, and I see a muscle in his cheek twitch when he presses his fingers over his eyes and changes his tone. While it’s softer, it’s still firm. “You will leave along with Lavender and Jesse. William and George will accompany you to New York until all this is settled.”

This information does little to calm me down, since he’s essentially sending everyone he cares about from the island in preparation for the war.

“I’m not a child. You cannot order me around!” I slap my chest. “Why do you behave like this all the time? You get closer, then push me away.” Because that’s what it boils down to, right? Him being unable to handle my emotions.

“What you feel for me is not real.”

I rear back, my mouth dropping in shock while the blood in my veins boils at the audacity of this man.

“I’m older and more experienced than you. I played with your mind, and you fell for me under these despicable circumstances. I gave you no other choice in order to survive in this hell of my own creation.”

He’s attributed all my emotions to some psychological terminology, completely invalidating them?

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