Chapter 2 #2
I want to do more than kiss her.
I want to strip that coat from her body, bend her over the nearest surface, and remind her in the only language we both understand that no corner of me is untouched by her. And there will be no inch of her I don’t possess.
But she is still hurt. And I’m still furious. A dangerous combination.
Her gaze drops to my mouth, then back up.
“There,” I murmur. “There’s the look.”
“What look?” she sniffs.
“The one where you want me and hate how much you do.”
She shakes her head, lying. “I don’t hate it.”
I brush my thumb along her jaw. “And you’re angry because I’m keeping you in the dark.”
She nods, admitting, “Yes.”
“Jealous?” I dare to ask.
Her eyes narrow.
Ah. There she is. My little spitfire, ready to erupt. “Careful,” she says.
I almost smile. Almost. Then I remember. “You crossed the boundary.”
“Oh, my God.” She jerks back, but I do not release her. “We’re back to that?”
“We never left it.”
She groans. “I was three feet past your precious woodpile.”
“You were disobedient,” I command.
She pulls away. “And you were secretive.”
“Yes. I was. Sometimes I have to be, to protect the ones I love.” That knocks some of the fight from her. “Yes,” I say. “I should have told you what Rafe found the moment he arrived.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because I saw your blood last week, and something in me has not come back right since.”
The fire in her eyes softens. I don’t want softness. Not yet.
Softness will make me gentle, and I am not feeling gentle.
“I cannot lose you,” I say.
Her voice drops. “So, you’ll cage me?”
“If I have to.” Wrong answer. I know it as soon as the words leave my mouth.
Erin’s expression closes. “No.”
I slide one hand to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair. “No? No to what?”
“No,” she shakes her head. “You don’t get to make control sound romantic.”
“Aww, you think I’m romantic?”
“I think you’re being a controlling man.”
“No new information there, sweetheart.”
I grip her hair, not enough to hurt, enough to hold.
And maybe to hurt.
She gasps, confessing, “And I think part of me likes it too much.”
My entire body stills.
Erin swallows but does not look away.
“But not like this,” she whispers. “Not when you’re scared, and I’m hurt, and there’s a dead woman’s name between us.”
“She is not between us.”
“She was outside with those men. She was in your silence. She was in your face when Rafe said her name.” Her breath shakes. “So don’t tell me she isn’t between us.”
I lean in until my mouth hovers over hers. I still, my eyes finding hers, my lips brushing against hers. “She’s not in my bed.”
“No,” she says, finally. “I am. And I don’t plan on sharing it with a ghost.”
“You won’t.” The words snap out with the last of my restraint.
I claim her lips. Not gently. Not sweetly.
My mouth takes hers with all the fear, fury, and need tearing through me.
She makes a sound against me that nearly unmans me, half protest, half surrender, her hands gripping the front of my coat.
I back her toward the wall. She goes because she wants to. Then she shoves my chest.
Hard.
I stop instantly. We are both breathing too fast.
Her lips are wet. Her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes are bright with anger, desire, and all the pain I have not yet earned the right to soothe.
“No,” she says again. This time, the word is breathless.
This time, it is not rejection.
It is a line.
I respect lines.
Even when I want to destroy every single one of them.
Even when she crosses mine.
I step back. Only one step. It nearly kills me.
As does the tightening in my groin.
Erin’s fingers curl at her sides. “I want the truth first,” she says.
“You have it.”
“Not all of it,” she accuses.
“No,” I admit. “Not all of it.”
She nods as if she expected that. She’s grown used to half-truths from being with a mafia man.
“What happens now?” Her gaze drops to the floor between us.
A dozen answers move through me, all related to the plans I need to make with the men to secure our safety. But that’s not what she’s asking. She wants to know what happens to us.
We stay, us.
I look at her coat. My coat. The snow is melting on her boots. The flush on her throat. The pulse beating too fast beneath the skin I know the taste of.
“You crossed my boundary,” I say. “You broke my rule.”
Her lashes lift. Heat sparks. Anger too.
Good. I step closer again, slower this time.
Her breath catches.
I lower my mouth to her ear. “And now you’re going to be punished for it.”
Her body shivers.
Not from the cold.
The knowledge satisfies something primitive in me.
But beneath it, the fear remains.
The insane second when I thought she might run into the trees and disappear.
I slide my hand around her throat, light, careful, claiming without pressure.
Her eyes flutter. “Don’t use sex to avoid my questions,” she whispers.
“I’ll use sex however and whenever I please.” My thumb strokes the side of her neck. “And you will never run from my protection.”
She can barely speak; her words are breath. “That sounds suspiciously like another one of your endless rules.”
“It is,” I confirm.
Her mouth curves despite herself into a small, dangerous smile.
I look at her for one long moment.
My impossible, disobedient, brave little warrior.
“And,” I say, lifting her into my arms as she gasps and grips my shoulders. “I’m going to show you what happens to little girls who break my rules.”