Page 30 of Bound

She let the discomfort lift her head. She also let it push a rejoinder to her lips.

“If it had only been about my body, do you think my hide would be that chapped?”

Not a flinch of surprise from him, though she expected none. But nor did he let fly with the comeback she expected, which had her yearning to jump into the tub and take cover on the spot.

Why had she just said that? Exposed so much of herself to him? Let him see all the parts in which he was clearly not interested, nor had any obligation to care about? Their moments in Paris were just an escape. A transition. A means of getting somewhere else.

Trouble was, she still had no idea where she was going. Not a damn clue.

“It wasn’t simply about my body either, Pixie.”

And damn it, with statements like that, he was not helping things. “Of course not,” she snipped. “There are the other things. How could I forget? A checklist of them, right? You can officially fill in the bubble for fucking a princess now. And for safe-house sex too.” She tapped a finger to her chin. “Though does it count when it is only a safe-house apartment? And remember, you also get the points for taking my V card. That certainly counted for a few punchholes in your card…?”

“No!” His growl was immediate and violent. “I mean—damn it, every second with you was amazing, all right? No. Not amazing. Beyond that. Far beyond.”

He huffed before chucking his cane, using the same whoosh of motion to raise a fisted hand. But not for long. As he drove it against the vanity counter, her cosmetics jumped and the frame bulbs flickered. But his voice plummeted to a serrated murmur.

“You don’t believe me,” he growled. “And frankly, I don’t blame you. I handled things like a box of rocks back in the infirmary. I’m probably still a goddamned box of rocks, but hopefully you’ll let me paint them a prettier for you now.”

Jayd scoffed. “Rocks are still rocks, Brickham. They hurt when you throw them.”

One side of his mouth quirked. “But pain can be a good thing, Pixie.”

She worked for another scoff. Instead, wild and ravenous heat flowed up her body. Between the meaning in his murmur and the intensity across his face, she knew exactly what he was thinking about—the same place to which he compelled her imagination now. All the moments from Paris, in which he had proved that statement so true. And in which she had eagerly let him…

You’re really liking this, aren’t you, gorgeous?

Right here, right now, you’re my clay, sweetheart…to be molded, painted, and then incinerated…

Are you close now? Because I’m fucking you? Hurting you?

Memories.

All of it was only memories.

And he was only bringing it up to dislodge her. To soften her. Deflect her heart against the blows he already had inflicted on it.

But no way was he coaxing her away from the edge that easily. Not even with a whole crate of painted rocks at his disposal.

Unless…

The man was willing to join her on the precipice. Ohhh yes, on the edge with his toes all the way over, sucking the cliff face for dear life.

“You truly want me to look at your pretty new stones, Maximilian Brickham?”

He relaxed his fist. Threaded his extended fingers with those of his messy blue hand and folded them in his lap.

“I truly do, Jayd Dawne Cimarron.”

She hiked up her chin. Squared her shoulders.

“Then start by using the ones that really matter.” She hiked her chin higher and set her shoulders. “Tell me about Asha.”

He went rigid again. She was ready for that but held firm. His flared nostrils, terse lips, and tempestuous gaze were also solid dots on her radar of readiness. None of them diminished her determination.

Until he pulled in a breath that shuddered as if his throat had been fileted.

Then another, like the same cosmic demons had started dicing him up.