Page 17
“No.”
The last thing I need is to be looking over my shoulder constantly because I walked by a tree this man pissed on.
“What more is there to say? I’ve asked you politely to leave. You refuse to listen.”
“Politely?” I groan, my face twisting in malice. “You show up at an auction. You outbid me. You follow me into the woods like a creep. You deface my work. You send me photos of it. I never gave you my number in the first place to send me the photo. So, that’s fun. And that’s your idea of polite?” I take a few steps toward him.
“First of all. I didn’t deface your work. I’m not a hooligan. I made it better. I completed it.”
My molars are on the verge of breaking under the pressure. How dare he think he knows what my work is or its meaning. I open my mouth to debate that claim, but he raises a single finger. My eyes pin on the gloved hand currently pointed at my face. I’m going to break that fucking finger, I swear to god.
“Secondly, my darling, that is me being polite.”
“Point that finger at me again, and I’ll rip it off by the joint and make you eat it.” I steady my voice, and he lowers his hand while giving a small nod. “Defacing my work was excessive. You know that. I wonder if you would feel the same way if I completed one of your little puppets.”
“Marionettes, actually.” He closes the distance, his chest invading my personal space, forcing me to step back. “You’re upset because my addition made it better. That’s what bothers you.”
That’s fucking it. I lunge with a perfect haymaker. He brings his arm up, blocking my punch and grabbing my wrist. Trees spin past as I lose my footing. Leaves on the ground come into view. Before I hit the ground, a large arm snakes around my waist in a vise grip.
He lifts me onto my feet, still holding me. Feeling his chest rise and fall against my back sends warmth to my stomach. The stubble along his jaw brushes the back of my neck. My thighs cinch together in response.
“Careful, darling. You have a pretty face. But I’m not going to make a habit of stopping you from hurting yourself.”
The warmth of his breath leaves a surge of electricity along my neck in its wake. Throwing my elbow, I make contact with his ribs. I lunge forward, trying to break free from his hold, but his grip tightens. I feel the curl of his strong fingers along the depths of my rib cage. The stiffness of his cock grazes my ass through the layers of clothing between us. Heat pools in my stomach.
“You’re so feisty. I very much appreciate that. Instead of trying to resolve this with violence, why don’t you try asking? Nicely.” He curls the fingers in my rib cage a few times.
“Let me go. Now.”
His nose nestles into my hair. As he takes a deep inhale, my eyes close involuntarily. Get yourself together.
“That’s not very nice. Is it? Let’s try again.”
“Let. Me. Go.”
“That’s about as good as I’m going to get. Isn’t it?” He squeezes me tightly one last time before releasing. I step away to put as much space between us as quickly as possible. He sighs and begins to walk back into the trees without another glance in my direction. Fucking weirdo. The trail is right here. This whole quest through the woods—incredibly unnecessary.
“I’m not leaving.”
“I know, darling. I know. And it’s going to be so much fun.” he says, sauntering off.
Walking over to the tree where my pack lies, I bend to pick it up. The breeze rushes over my shoulder, carrying his scent on the wind. I turn, expecting him to be there, but all I see is fluttering leaves on the swaying branches. His scent lingers the whole trek back to the car.
A scent now burned into my memory.
7
Groaning, I throw my bags on the floor and collapse into my comforter, but I can’t get his eyes out of my mind. Those stupid, electric eyes. The phantom embrace of his brutal grip still lingers along my waist. My arms fall over my waist mirroring his touch. What the fuck is wrong with me?
I refuse to be attracted to a serial killer-slash-stalker.
I drag my laptop closer and open the dark account. Yes! My flower has confirmed our meeting.
Opening the file Litza made for Ethan, I review every document. Every sentence. I want to know everything down to his motherfucking shoe size.
An alarm chimes on my phone—time to get ready. Tossing the laptop aside, I head to the shower. After attempting to wash away the failure of this afternoon and failing, I emerge to check the messages in the chat.
He’s confirmed the meeting at the city park I suggested earlier.
