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Scared of Maxim and of the feeling deep in my gut that my prophetic vision from earlier was wrong. Because as I lift my chin and meet his dark, furious gaze, it sure doesn’t look like we’re on the way to becoming lovers.
Or friends.
Or anything but bitter, lifelong enemies.
Chapter 20
Maxim
We all have lines we won’t cross.
No matter what.
Because crossing them would change us in ways we’re not sure we could live with.
Before tonight, I would have said this was one of mine.
I’ll put a willing woman on her knees and fuck her mouth hard and deep or interrogate a suspect locked in one of my mirrored rooms without a flicker of conscience. But I’ve never used the sexual energy between a woman and myself as a threat. I’ve never let sex and violence mingle so freely as they’re doing right now.
I should be ashamed of myself.
But as I put Willow on her knees in my study with her hands tied behind her back and stalk slowly back and forth in front of the fire, watching her begin to sweat, I’m not ashamed.
I’m aroused. Hard.
My dick is straining the fly of my suit pants, desperate to fuck her pretty mouth into a confession, something Willow would surely notice if it were brighter in the room.
Just another reason to keep the lights low, let the fire be the only thing lighting the darkness.
And it’s easier to excuse my behavior in the dark.
This ugliness rising inside of me likes the shadows.
That should also worry me, I suppose.
I should excuse myself, call Hermione to come fetch Willow and lock her in a cell for the night, and start this interrogation over again in the morning.
In the light of day, with a cold metal table separating us and cameras on the wall recording the interview for posterity.
And for safety. Hers and mine.
This good little wolf makes me want to do bad, bad things.
But then, I don’t know that she’s good, do I?
And that’s part of our problem.
“Tell me what you know about Kelley,” I demand again. “Where has she been? Why was she here?”
“I’ve already told you,” she whispers. “I don’t know. I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
“Yes, you can,” I counter. “Your pack gift will take care of that for you. Just start talking about your sister. Imagine what she might have been up to. Hypothesize. Your eyes will separate the truth from fiction.”
“My pack gift can’t know things I don’t.”
“Of course, it can.” I smile my most condescending smile, relishing the way it clearly infuriates her. “You know nothing about what you can or can’t do. You’re in over your head, little wolf. Best do as you’re told.”
“Or what?”
