Page 5 of Twisted Tate

Then she stops.

Her whole body goes rigid. Through the glass doors, I can see a black car idling at the curb. I can’t see the driver, but I can see her reaction—her hands curling into fists, her breathing going shallow.

She’s scared of whoever is in that car.

I close the distance between us, stepping into her path. Her head snaps toward me, and I watch recognition flicker across her face. She knows what I am, and she probably knows my name. The Ravens can be a small world.

“Going somewhere, sweetheart?”

Her eyes narrow. Up close, she’s even better than the photos—high cheekbones, pouty lips swollen from having a cock down her throat five minutes ago.

“Get the fuck out of my way.”

“Now, that’s not very friendly.” I step closer, backing her toward the wall. “Especially after the show you just put on.”

She goes still. “What?”

“Back there in the hallway, with you on your knees.” I let my gaze drop to her mouth, then back up. “That asshat didn’t last long, did he?”

Her chin lifts. “Because I know what the fuck I’m doing.”

The lack of shame does something to me. Most women want to at least pretend they aren’t into playing the part of a hot little slut. But she fucking owns it.

“Were you watching me, Sinclair?” She takes a step closer instead of backing away. “Did you like what you saw?”

So she does know who I am. My cock twitches. She notices and licks her bottom lip.

Fuck, I need that fucking mouth.

“I’ve been watching you for days, Reese.” I match her step, closing the distance until I can smell her perfume—something soft and floral. Then I am close enough to feel the heat of her breath. “I know who you are. I know who your daddy is. And I’ve got some questions that need answers.”

She doesn’t step back. Most people do when I get this close. I’m known as an intimidating man. I catch the way her breath stutters, and her chest rises a little faster. Her body knows what her mouth won’t admit.

I could kiss her right now. Or wrap my hand around her throat. She doesn’t know which one I’m thinking about, and I like watching her try to figure it out.

The answer is both. I want my hand around her throat when I kiss her. Goddamnit. I need fucking information, not distraction.

Her gaze flicks toward the exit. The black car hasn’t moved.

I watch her decide what she’s going to do. Putting aside how hard I am, I came ready to drag her ass out of here if I had to. Not to force her to fuck. I’d never force myself on a woman. But I’ll force information out of her. I’ve done this many times before, and I know how to get what I want.

She looks at the car, then looks at me, and makes her choice.

“What kind of questions?”

I’m curious about why she keeps watching that car. But if it helps ensure she leaves with me, I’ll take it.

“The kind you won’t want to answer in public.” I nod toward the side exit. “My car’s out back. We can talk somewhere more private.”

She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You think I’m stupid enough to get in a car with a Sinclair?”

“I think you’re smart enough to know that if I want you to come with me, then you’ll come with me.” I lean in close, my mouth near her ear. “Fighting it is a mistake, by the way. People who don’t answer my questions tend to regret it. But we can discuss that later.”

Silence. I can see the tension in her jaw, the way she’s fighting to keep her expression neutral. She’s scared, but she’s not panicking—she’s weighing her options.

“Fine.”

I expected to have to grab her. I expected a damn fight. In truth, I kind of wanted one.