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If she can prove it.
But she’s still hiding something from me. That much is obvious. My mind rings with a dozen questions, chief among them being, why would Malcolm go to such great lengths to ruin the life of a random woman? Why did he hate her so much?
I remain inches from her, body pulsing with want. This is dangerous, an escalation in our relationship. I keep my mouth shut and force the questions away. I can’t press, not right now. I brush my lips against her throat, breathing her smell deep, wanting her so badly it hurts. I want to pretend like it’s a surprise, but it’s not, at least not to me. This has been growing inside my core for days and days and finally, I can’t help it.
Inviting her over for dinner was foolish. It was a goddamn pretext to doing this.
And I shouldn’t be doing this.
“We’ll find your proof,” I say finally, quietly, my voice husky with pure want.
“You make it sound easy.”
“Nothing worth doing is easy, princess.”
“Did you read that on a Hallmark card?”
I smirk and shake my head. “My father used to say it.”
“What is with you and your family? Why are you all so infuriating?”
“I’m infuriating because you want to fuck me. I can’t speak for the others.”
Her mouth opens in denial.
But I cut her off by pressing my lips against hers and stifling her protest.
