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A gasp escapes me at the sudden sound of my name from his lips. It’s promising, deep, and so gravelly that it vibrates through me in shivers I can’t control.
Clearing my throat, I all but squeak, “Mmm?”
“Wait for me upstairs,” he instructs with a lick of his lips. They look too perfect and sculpted to be human flesh. Maybe they’re hard, chiselled stone and it’s why he can’t really smile.
In all the photos I found of him online, not a single one showed him smiling. The impassiveness he possesses is distanced and cold. However, I keep going back to the time we spent together last week, scrutinising the one smile he offered when he spoke of Dad and Joe and that sudden, short-lived laugh.
“Upstairs,” he tells me again, causing my chest to squeeze tight at the deep timbre of his voice. The frantic rhythm of my pulse stutters for a few beats as I turn to leave.
I swear I feel him touch the small of my back, tracing the dandelion tattoo I got shortly after Joe died. However, when I look at him, his hands are balled at his sides while his stare is glued to the top of my arse.
From the expression on his face, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. But there’s a glint in his eyes that makes my insides wrench. His lips pucker as his hands push inside the pockets of his suit trousers, so big and masculine that they don’t fit properly, leaving his pinkie finger hanging out with the ruby-eyed wolf glaring at me. The urge to run is overruled by the pull deep inside of me, like a lasso knotted around my organs so that I feel every move he makes around me.
I take a step back, and he steps forward. We’re toe-to-toe, and my pulse is racing. I wait for his next move as he holds me with his unwavering stare. Our surroundings fade. My blood hammers relentlessly in my ears. And still, I’m paralysed. Waiting.
Watching and waiting as my heart threatens to jump out of my chest.
Watching and waiting while the air in my lungs begins to burn.
Watching and waiting while he holds his narrowed gaze on me.
I might just pass out when he says, “Go.”
The guttural growl sets me in motion. One foot in front of the other, with Percival following behind me. The music that had been a murmur in the background becomes louder. I can’t hear a single thing going on inside the room when the door shuts behind me, leaving me out in the darkened hallway, questioning my sanity and every decision I’ve made since I was sent here.
CHAPTER FIVE
HENRY
The door to the suite is wide open when I round the corner of the darkened corridor. With the golden light spilling into the hallway, it’s impossible to hide in the shadows while I watch Eve pace the floor at the foot of the bed. Her slender legs look lithe in the tall heels strapped to her dainty ankles. Leaning over the high footboard, she drags in deep breaths as though steadying herself.
I can’t help the thoughts that assault me at the sight of her bent over like that. The short skirt of her dress barely covers the curve of her arse cheeks, and the stretch of her calves…
Fuck, my hands tighten at the overwhelming need to take her. Just like that.
With her hair tangling around us and her supple tits heavy in my hands. Every time I set eyes on her, she appears more and more enticing, and it’s becoming harder to resist the urge to touch her.
But she’s just a child.
Julian’s right—Eve’s a pretty, untainted little girl. She has no idea where she really is. Who I am or what I do. Eve doesn’t belong within these walls, let alone in our world. At some point, it will burn her, or worse, it will obliterate her. She’s as delicate as the dandelion etched at the bottom of her spine. That right there, more than anything Julian warned me of, is a reminder of her fragility.
Maybe bringing her back here was a mistake, but it’s one I can’t regret, even if I don’t want to corrupt her. There’s a purity inside her that makes her different from any woman I’ve ever encountered.
If keeping her in my sight is the only way I can have her, then that’s what I’ll do. Because the serenity she possesses is everything I want right now—the silence to think and the distraction to feel something other than rage.
Revenge has been my constant companion since my father was murdered. I live it, breathe it, taste its bitterness every damn second of every godforsaken day. It’s scorching my veins, fuelling the blood thirst and stoking my fury. It’s a recipe for disaster that I need to shake myself from if I’m going to keep the promise I made to my mother and myself.
Blood for blood.
The large rug muffles my footsteps as I walk inside the room. It’s not until I shut the door behind me that Eve realises she’s not alone anymore. There’s a panicked glaze to her stare when she spins to find me.
Fuck if I don’t want to devour her right here and now. Fuck if I don’t want to squeeze my hands around every inch of her soft flesh. Swallow her whole and tear her apart, all at once.
“Your Grace,” she breathes out tremulously, hot breath seeping through the cotton of my shirt.
When did I get so close? I ask myself, taking yet another step forward so that she steps back into the bed.
“I want to fuck you, Eve.” The growl rumbles from me as I brace my hands on the footboard on either side of her hips. A deep shiver rolls through her. Maybe it’s fear.
