Page 43 of Corrupted Deception

He chuckled derisively. “So, what is it you do? Run around with your little needles, asking your marks real nicely to hand over their intel before you let them walk right out the door? How many times have you done that, Charlotte? How many god damned bullseyes do you have painted on your back right now?”

“Oh, you asshole.”

My chest was heaving, and my fists were clenched so tight, my crimson nails were digging into my palms.

“Believe it or not, going around torturing people isn’t actually my god damned day job. I’m flying blind here. I never took care of this shit. My dad—”

Shit.

I slammed my mouth shut. I had a feeling I looked an awful lot like a deer caught in headlights.Nice poker face, Char.

“Your dad?” he said, his voice eerily quiet.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

His brow furrowed. “Cade Finley… he’s your father?”

Stupid, Char. Just plain stupid.

What was worse was the way it was starting to feel like I’d been backed into a corner, and already more stupid words were bubbling up, climbing up my throat, -slipping out right over my tongue…

“So what?” I snapped as my heart beat harder. “Even poor little trailer trash girls have fathers, Cielo.”

Oh, dear lord, where the hell had that come from? Were we seriously going there? I could see Dr. Steele shaking his head at me in disappointment.

Cielo took a step toward me, then another, barreling right at me.

Oh good, he’s going to kill me.Wasn’t that just a perfect end to another clusterfuck of a night?

But even as the thought flitted through my mind, my body made no preparations to defend itself, to search for the kill shot. Or any shot. Because I just couldn’t reconcile this man with inflicting that kind of violence onme.The mere thought made my brain short-circuit—more proof there were definitely some screws loose.

Before I could think of some way to respond, he was right in front of me, his hands on either side of my face, gripping firmly, holding me still.

“Cade Finley is yourfather, not your husband?” he asked, his ice blue eyes boring into mine.

“Husband?” I would have laughed at the absurd notion, but I still kind of wanted to drop-kick him for railroading me.

“The way you talked about him…” he said, jaw clenched tight and his brow furrowed even as something in him changed. It was like one tension dissipated while another one grew, taking its place. But this new tension wasn’t thick and suffocating. It was a live wire stretched taut, ready to snap, to send sparks shooting off in every direction.

“Christ,” he said, but the word came out on a sharp sigh.

He was so close his warm breath tickled my cheeks as the heat from his hands seeped into my skin.

And then he wasn’t just close, he was everywhere, all around me, as his lips covered mine, bruising with their fervor.

He shoved his fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck, twisting tightly as he ravished my mouth, bombarding my senses. The peppermint and vanilla taste of him. The scent of bergamot and sandalwood that wound around me and wended its way into my veins like a drug. The sound of his heavy breath and the racing of my own pulse.

He’d never kissed me before. Not once. I’d spent plenty of time imagining it a lifetime ago; the press of his lips, the glide of his tongue. But there was no ‘pressing’ here, no ‘gliding’. He captured and took. Demanding, not beseeching. Hard and rough. It was lust and anger, pent up and spilling over.

And just the way I liked it.

My body sparked up, preparing for the push and pull, the back-and-forth rhythm, almost like combat. The kind of battle that was as good as an adrenaline rush. Already, it felt like there was the faintest electrical current traveling along my skin, and I knew that everywhere he touched me, everywhere he grabbed or shoved or dug in his fingers, would send shockwaves to the core of me.

I took it in, the sensations, the anticipation.

Then, like a lightning bolt out of nowhere, a memory of a much younger Cielo flashed behind my eyes.

He sits down next to me in the short grass by the school’s fence, a cafeteria tray in one hand, the savory, salty-sweet aroma of French fries wafting through the sunshine-warmed air. But as he settles in, I can smell the cheap-ass, fruity perfume on his clothes and see the hot-pink lipstick smudge on the collar of his shirt.

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