Page 62 of Taken Away

Aubrey froze in the doorway.

Bennett stopped dead. His gaze dropped to the black silk, stayed there for one agonizing second, and then slid slowly back to her. The gold flecks in his eyes had gone entirely dark in the shadows of the room.

Aubrey’s defense mechanisms slammed down instantly to cover the sudden, hot flush creeping up her neck. She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe with a look of cool, untouchable detachment.

“It’s called lingerie, McCrae,” she said, her voice aiming for a smooth purr and landing shy. “You going to take a picture or just stare?”

Bennett didn’t answer right away. He turned slowly, closing the distance between them until his broad frame blocked out the light from the hallway, crowding her back against the wooden doorframe. Heat settled between them, neither of them willing to step away.

“You’re awfully loud for a woman who was shaking in my car ten minutes ago,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that dangerous, gravelly register.

Aubrey lifted her chin. “I wasn’t shaking. And I don’t need a lecture on boundaries from you. Drift Bar. That patio tonight. What is it with you and corners anyway?”

Bennett’s eyes narrowed, a sudden, dark flare cutting through the gold flecks.

Before she could even finish the sentence, his hand snapped out. His fingers closed around her upper arm—warm, heavy, and completely immovable—and he drew her forward, pulling her flush against the solid, unyielding heat of his chest.

The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. Her hands came up instinctively to push him away, but her knees betrayed her, turning completely to liquid against his frame. He didn’t let her fall. He trapped her there, his left hand bracing against the small of her back through the emerald silk, flexing his fingers to drag her flush against the hard, unyielding line of his hips.

He leaned down, his mouth a fraction of an inch from hers, his rough stubble brushing her cheek. She could feel the heat of his breathing on her bare skin. God help her, her eyes drifted shut, her lips parting slightly as she waited for the hard, demanding impact of his mouth.

But he held her there, suspended in the dark, torturing her with the agonizing space between them.

“Do you want me to kiss you, Princess?” Bennett whispered harshly against her lips, his voice dropping an octave into pure gravel. “Or do you just need me to?”

Aubrey’s eyes snapped open, her chest heaving against his. Her defenses fractured into dust. She wanted to bite back, but she couldn’t form a single syllable.

His calloused thumb slid up her jawline, a light pressure that held her gaze locked to his.

“Because you’re standing here throwing a tantrum about boundaries,” he murmured, his gaze dropping heavily to her mouth, his own breathing turning ragged as he felt her heart hammering against his chest. “But your body’s begging me to quiet you down. In fact…”—his mouth curved, barely—“I think you want it more.” The arrogance in his tone was quiet, ruthless, and entirely accurate.

Then, slowly, he released his grip on her arm and stepped back into the doorway, the sudden distance hitting her like ice water.

Aubrey stood frozen, her lips still parted, fingers digging into the doorframe to stay upright, exposed and trembling in the dim gray light.

Bennett picked up his suit jacket from where he'd slung it over a nearby chair.

"Windows are pinned," he said quietly. "Lock the deadbolt behind me."

He turned on his heel and walked down the stairs.

A sudden, ridiculous cold washed through her as she watched him go. She didn't want him to leave.

She followed him to the foyer in a daze, turning the heavy brass deadbolt the second the screen door closed. A sharp wave of panic hit her as the lock clicked into place. I should have told him about the note. I should have handed it to him. But even as the fear coiled in her stomach, her stubborn pride dug in its heels. Showing him that paper meant showing him how vulnerable she really was—and after what had happened upstairs, she refused to give Bennett McCrae another inch of power over her.

The house immediately felt too big. Too empty. Too haunted by things she couldn’t name.

Moose’s claws clicked softly on the pine as he padded over, pressing his heavy head against her hip.

Aubrey curled her fingers into the fur at his neck, her voice coming out rough.

“Hey, boy,” she whispered. “You’re sleeping in my room tonight, okay? Between that man, the prowler, and Mabel dying in this house, I’d really appreciate the company.”

FIFTEEN

Blackwood Estate

Morning