Page 2 of Corrupted Union

A man of many words, I see.

He made it to the large marble-top island only a dozen feet from me. My jaw clenched. Something about this man piqued my curiosity, and I sensed the intrigue was mutual. Dragging out information annoyed me, however. Why wouldn’t he just tell me what this was all about? My father wasn’t the secretive type and couldn’t be bought, so what could thisKeirneed to discuss that warranted the cloak-and-dagger charade?

“Why aren’t you afraid?” he asked in an even, deliberate tone. Taking one step, then another, he started to round the island.

“Do you want me to be? Is that what gets you off?” I shot back, keeping my voice as level as his.

“You don’t like to answer questions.”

Step.

“Neither do you.”

Step.

His eyes, as bright as the Caribbean Sea, trailed over my face as though memorizing my features. His scrutiny made me uncomfortable.

“You shouldn’t come any closer,” I finally warned, a breathiness seeping into my voice.

Step.

“Why not?”

He was now only a couple of feet away from me. He seemed even larger up close. I wasn’t exactly petite at five feet five, but he towered over me. Had to be six feet three or four. And it wasn’t just his height. He was broad like a professional athlete, thick with mature muscle. Probably somewhere close to thirty years old. Confident. Calculating. Deadly. Pure predator.

I pulled the knife from behind my back in one quick motion and held it securely in my fist. “Because I have this, and I’ll use it.”

Keir’s eyes seemed to brighten further. “Now, why would you go and do a thing like that?” He inched forward.

“Protect myself?”

Completely ignoring the knife, he eased forward until the blade touched his chest. “Take out a weapon when you don’t plan on using it.”

“What says I’m not?” I swiftly raised the knife to his throat, the tip pressing against his skin.

He leaned forward just enough for the blade to draw a prick of blood. “Because I’m still breathing,” he murmured.

I never had a chance to respond.

One second, I had the knife at him, and the next, he’d grabbed my hand, spun me around toward the counter, and forced my hand to hold the blade atmythroat instead of his. I couldn’t move an inch. His arms were steel beams wrapped around me while his solid body pressed against my back. I was at his mercy.

“If you don’t use the weapon, you run the risk of your opponent using it against you.” His lips were so close to my ear, each softly spoken word felt like a caress. A shiver glided along my skin and rattled my insides to the point of chaos. It was the only explanation for how wires could be so crossed that a bolt of lust struck deep in my core. How could this situation possibly turn me on? It didn’t. My brain had to be misfiring.

Heisincredibly hot, Ro.

And dangerous! I shot back at the whimsical voice in my head, disgusted.

“I never claimed to be a fighter,” I said with an edge. “Just that I wouldn’t run crying.” I held still. Partly because the knife tip was teasing at breaking my skin, but also because there was no point in fighting him. I wasn't going anywhere if he didn’t want to release me.

Outwardly, I reflected perfect calm, but on the inside, an intoxicating sense of exhilaration flooded my veins. Like Frankenstein’s monster struck by that first lightning bolt, I felt my body come alive. The situation was dangerous. I shouldn’t have enjoyed what was happening, yet a part of me wanted to seize the feeling with both hands and never let go.

“I don’t believe much of anything would bring you to tears,” Keir mused as if to himself.

The blade drifted gently down my neck, slowing at my fluttering pulse point. My breaths grew shallow and more frequent, each one drawing in more of his intoxicating scent—old leather and motor oil wrapped in a trace of expensive cologne. It was an odd assortment of flavors that somehow complemented one another perfectly.

“I’m sure you could manage, but I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

He made a curious rumbling sound in his chest, then slowly shifted his hand, releasing mine and moving to gingerly grasp the blade. He disarmed me in a way that requested my surrender rather than forced my submission. I could lash out and cut his fingers since the knife handle was still firmly in my grip. But his actions seemed to convey that he wasn’t there to hurt me, so I followed his lead and released the weapon.

---