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He took a step closer, and she straightened, pointing her knife at him, keeping her hand steady. "Nuh-uh. You move an inch and you'll go back with a scar."
He stilled, his gaze intensifying. "And you call me the one with delusions."
Morana grit her teeth, the urge to just give him a plain old punch in the face and possibly break his nose acute. She stayed back. The sooner she get this over with, the better.
"I'm sure you aren't here to stare at me, as much as you seem to enjoy doing that," she began, never removing her eyes from his. "Why are you here?"
He blinked once, his body completely still, as though ready to pounce on the breath of a motion. "You broke into my house. I thought I'd return the favor."
Morana kept her mouth shut, waiting him out. Her blood was rushing way too fast in her body, her skin way too warm for comfort, her pulse way higher than normal. Adrenaline. She was flooded with adrenaline. Nothing more. Fight and flight. Instinct. Yup, that explained it.
He tilted his head to the side, his eyes never wavering, the motion making him look even more lethal in the muted lamp lights of the room.
"As I said," he began, in that voice that had made her put the phone down, the voice of whiskey, the voice that made her want to roll her eyes back into her head. She shook herself mentally, focusing on his words. "This is business. Dante and I are the only ones who know about the codes on our side. You are the only one on yours, I believe?"
She didn't respond, just waited. He continued. "We want to keep it that way, contained. Even the right information in the wrong hands can be disastrous."
Scoffing, she raised her eyebrows. "And I should just assume you are men of honor when, in fact, I've seen you lie to your own side without blinking. Tell me, Mr. Caine, why should I believe a word that comes out of your mouth?"
His eyes hardened, and he took another step. Morana swiped the knife in the air in warning. He stopped.
"I'd prefer if you didn't," he spoke, the coldness entering his eyes sending a shiver down her spine.
Before she could say another word, she heard the main gates to the mansion open, the sound of horns blaring in the night as cars entered the property. At this time of the night, it only meant her father had returned.
She kept her eyes on him, watching his every move, her heart started beating faster as she realized her father was in the house, along with Tristan Caine. If she was caught, her death was guaranteed.
Morana sighed, the headache from before returning with a vengeance. "How do I know you don't have the codes?"
"I don't," he simply said. She saw the conviction in his eyes. She saw the heat in them. She ignored them both.
"Okay," she nodded. "Assuming you don't have them, I've been trying to find a way to destroy them on my own for days. It's not working." Her frustration notched, remembering her futile efforts. "I infiltrated your house, for goodness' sake, as a last resort! Trust me, Mr. Caine, doing business with me is not a good option right now."
His eyes narrowed on her, assessing her. "That's not for you to decide. You've involved us in this and now you have to see it through."
"Or else?" she demanded, ra
ising her eyebrows, her arm starting to ache where she held it up beside her.
A corner of his lips lifted. "Or I go downstairs right now to meet your father and tell him what's going on."
Morana rolled her eyes, calling his bluff. "You wouldn't do that. You said you want to keep it quiet. Plus, I was going to tell my father already."
"Were you, really?" he asked, and she felt her hackles rise at his tone.
Before she could even straighten her spine, his hand was suddenly on her wrist, twisting her arm as the other hand twirled her around. Morana brought her leg up, trying to hit him in the knee but he sidestepped, taking a hold of both her wrists in one huge hand, pressing his chest to her back, giving her no room to move, the other hand gripping her hair painlessly but firmly, tilting her head back so she could see him behind her, the knife in her hand clattering to the carpeted floor with a muffled thud. Morana struggled against his hold, but as was the trend with them, couldn't move.
"Don't play with toys you don't understand," his voice whispered right against her ear, his breath ghosting over the exposed shoulder where her t-shirt had fallen away, sending a shiver through her before she could stop it, a shiver she was certain he could feel, a shiver that made her breasts heave. But the condescension in his tone made her jaw clench.
Steeling her nerves, knowing his hands were occupied, Morana threw her head back into his face and missed as he ducked at the last minute, his grip on her hands loosening. That was all she needed. Dropping down to the ground, she swiped his feet from under him while picking up the knife at the same time. The moment he fell on his back, she climbed his chest, pressing the knife right under his Adam's apple, glaring at him.
He looked back at her, the muted lights in the room casting his face half in shadows, no hint of fear in his blue eyes, not fazed at all, his hands pinned down beside him by her thighs.
Morana leaned forward, keeping their eyes locked, and whispered, with all the anger and hatred coursing through her body. "One day, I'm going to carve your heart out and keep it as a souvenir. I promise."
She'd thought he would respond with silence, or with a clenched jaw, or with another jab at her. He didn't.
He chuckled.
