Chapter 6 #3
“He shares your blood.”
“I don’t care. After what he did to his own father, he’s no cousin of mine. He’s a murderer.”
The glass stopped halfway to my mouth.
I set it down hard enough that whisky jumped over my hand. Then I crossed the room until I stood in front of him. He had to look down at me. I hated that I wanted the angle of it. Hated that I remembered the heat of his thigh between mine while I fixed his face.
“He’s a murdered, but you’re a thief. You stole me,” I said.
“I saved you. Rescued you.”
“You stole me.”
“Say it if you want. Doesn’t make it true.”
“You studied me like cargo.”
“That I will admit.”
I put a hand against his chest. Not a caress. A shove, light enough that he barely moved. His shirt was warm under my palm. Solid. I could feel the beat of his heart.
“Go on,” I said. “Tell me how different you are.”
His eyes lowered to my hand. Then came back to my face.
“You are trying to make me frightening.”
My fingers curled in his shirt.
“What?”
“You’re crowding me. Insulting me. You want me to put my hands on you in anger.” His voice was low. “Because then hating me is simple. It’s safer than admitting you want me.”
The slap of recognition was so clean I swung at him.
He caught my wrist.
Not hard. Not cruel. His fingers closed around it by instinct.
Then he let go.
Immediately.
He stepped back so fast that the space between us felt like a door slammed in my face.
“I will not use your anger,” he said. His voice was rougher now. “Your attraction—yes, I know you’re attracted to me. I won’t use your fear. Your dependence on me. None of it is permission.”
My wrist burned where he had held it, though his touch had lasted less than a second.
He stood across from me with his hands at his sides, breathing hard through his nose, and I realized that he was fighting himself too.
That should have pleased me.
Instead, it broke something.
He had stepped away from me as if I were the dangerous thing in the room, and I could not bear it.
That was the truth of it.
Not relief. Not safety. Rage.
“Don’t,” I said.
Sal did not move. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t stand there looking noble.”
“I’m not noble. This has nothign to do with nobility. I’m not a good person. I’m a fucking mafioso. This is my business. It’s the cleanest way. You’re an asset, and I won’t have you compromised.”
“Liar.”
I crossed the space before I had decided to. My hand found his tie. Dark silk, warm from his body. I wrapped it around my fist and pulled him down.
Then I kissed him.
Hard.
My mouth hit his with enough force that his head tipped back. His cheek struck the edge of my hand. I tasted blood almost immediately, metallic and hot.
For one suspended second, Sal did nothing.
His body went absolutely still.
Then his mouth moved just enough against mine for him to speak.
“Do you want me to answer?”
The question tore through the heat like a blade.
I opened my eyes. He was close enough that I could see the dark ring around his pupils. His breath touched my lips. One of his hands hovered at my waist, not holding me.
“Yes,” I said.
Not softly. Not sweetly.
“Yes.”
His hand went to the back of my neck.
The other closed around my waist.
And then he kissed me back.
There was nothing gentle about it. Not cruel. Never that. But all the restraint I had been pushing against since the road came down at once, controlled and devastating. His fingers spread at my nape, holding me exactly where he wanted my mouth. His palm at my waist pulled me flush against him.
He was hard.
The knowledge of it went through me in one hot rush. I made a small sound I hated and loved, and his mouth deepened over mine as if he had heard it. As if he wanted more.
I did too.
I bit his lower lip. He exhaled against my mouth, rough and low. The sound moved down through my body until my knees felt unreliable.
“More,” I demanded.
His eyes opened.
“You are trouble.”
“Don’t talk.”
That almost-smile flashed again. Then he backed me toward the desk.
Not trapping me. I could feel the edge of it behind my thighs, but his body did not pin mine to it. His hand stayed at my waist, firm enough to keep me upright. Firm enough to make me feel how easily he could move me if he chose.
He kissed the corner of my mouth. My jaw. The place below my ear.
My head went back.
His stubble scraped my skin. The heat of his mouth made every thought I had turn useless. I clutched his tie harder. The cashmere jumper felt too thick, too soft, too much between us.
Sal’s hand slid under its hem.
His palm met bare skin.
Everything stopped.
Not him. Me.
The office vanished. The desk vanished. There was only a hand under my clothes, a man larger than me, the sudden fact of being held where I could not see the door.
Fear came fast and ugly.
I jerked away.
Sal let go before I had completed the movement.
He stepped back. One pace. Two. Three.
His chest rose under the dark shirt. His mouth was swollen. Blood had seeped through the closure on his cheek again, a thin bright line down toward his jaw. His hands had curled into fists at his sides, but they remained there.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
The apology made anger flare through the panic.
“Don’t fucking apologize.”
“I’m not apologizing for wanting you.”
“Then what?”
“For not stopping sooner.”
“I didn’t ask you to stop.”
“No.” His voice dropped. “But you pulled away.”
I looked at the blood on his cheek because I could not look at his face.
“This cannot happen again like this,” he said.
I laughed, breathless and mean. “You sound very sure of yourself.”
“I am sure of one thing.” He swallowed. “You were taken from a road twelve hours ago. Your brother is still in danger. You are angry with me, frightened of me, dependent on my resources, and attracted to me. I want you too badly to pretend those things don’t matter.”
The room felt cold without his hands on me.
“Next time,” he said, “we know the rules. We know what you want. We know you can stop it without wondering what it costs you.”
“There will be no next time.”
His gaze held mine.
“No,” he said quietly. “There won’t. Not unless you choose it.”
I hated that answer more than anything.
I turned before he could see my legs shaking. I made it to the office door with my hand on the frame, then looked back once.
Sal stood exactly where he had stepped away to. Blood on his cheek. Tie crooked. Dark eyes following me but not calling me back.
I left.
Fuck.
I wanted him, and I wanted him bad.