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l the cut of muscles he was using to intimidate her.
Morana glared at him, her eyes narrowing, her blood heating from both anger and arousal.
“You want to touch me, Mr. Caine?” she spoke in an equally low voice. “You tell me the truth.”
His face shut down so fast Morana would have missed it in a blink. All the anger, all the everything that had been on his face? Gone. Just like that.
His eyes remained on hers, the blaze contained but not gone as his fingers tightened on her jaw, pulling her up until she had to stand on her toes to accommodate.
He leaned down, his lips almost in line with hers as his eyes pricked her like cold chips of ice, his jaw clenched so tight the scruff seemed even more pronounced.
“Don’t. Ever. Try. To. Fucking. Control. Me.”
Morana felt her body tremble at the fatality in his voice, the tone making it evident it had been the wrong thing to say. She had no leverage over him. Absolutely none. And to think that his lust would work as one had been a long shot anyway.
No one could hold anything over this man to make him do something he didn’t want to.
Had someone ever tried that, though? The way he’d reacted, with such icy vehemence, certainly implied that.
But playing with fire as she did on a regular basis these days, Morana smirked slightly, and deliberately ground her hips into his, rolling it in one smooth motion. She felt his respond automatically, thrusting into her stomach, hard, her core clenching in need as his breath ghosted over her mouth. Her lips tingled as wetness flooded between her legs, her nipples squashed against his rock hard and incredibly warm abs, her body alive, so fucking alive with sensations.
Trying to keep it cool, smiling intently, she brushed her nose over his, in a mockery of the intimate kiss, and spoke over his lips.
“Then I suggest you control yourself, sweetheart.”
The corner of his lip twitched ever so slightly, right above that delectable scar, his hips rocking into her one last time before suddenly, he was moving away. Already halfway across the room, his trousers tented evidently, his stance shameless as he scrutinized her.
Feeling like she’d just lost a game she’d had no idea they’d been playing, unable to understand what in him made her behave like this, like a wanton thrill-seeking animal. Morana swallowed and turned towards the guest room, walking away as quickly as she could without making it seem like she was running, which she totally was.
She felt his eyes on her retreating back all the way till the room and kept her head averted, shutting the door behind her, shutting his eyes out.
Taking her first deep breath in what seemed like minutes, Morana shook herself and walked to the bathroom, closing the door behind her even though it didn’t have a lock. He’d never entered this room before though, so she wasn’t really worried about him doing so. For all his high-handed ways, he seemed to have a thing for her privacy, something she couldn’t help but wholeheartedly approve of.
Stripping her bloodied dress off, Morana let it fall to the floor with a ‘plop’ and looked up at the mirror to check her arm.
The bleeding had stopped, as had the pain. It was just a gash that throbbed, nothing a few butterfly bandages and some sleep wouldn’t cure. Deciding to take a shower first and then go to the kitchen to wrap it up, Morana walked to the glass stall at the end of the cozy bathroom and turned the knob for warmth.
She stepped under the spray, letting the warm water slide over her, feeling the sweat and grime of the day go down the drain along with the exhaustion, careful to keep her wounded arm away from the spray. Eyes closed, head tipped back, she let the water wet her dark hair, caress her muscles as she let go of the breath she’d been holding the entire day. Her mind replayed what had happened outside, what she’d almost wanted to happen.
She’d seen him. Eyes ablaze, body trembling with that thin control, his aggression, his physicality, his focus – all on her. She’d seen him and like every other time, something in her had responded to that wild animal call. Only this time, it had been louder than ever before, more ardent.
A shiver ran down her spine even as the hot water slid down her skin –
That was when she felt it.
His eyes.
She stilled, her barely calm heart picking up pace again as the water sluiced over her body. She was suddenly aware of the gush, of her entire being aware of the man standing at the glass door.
The man who’d never once entered the guest bedroom. The man who now leaned against the shower stall casually, watching her with the steady, ready eyes of a panther. The man who barefoot but still dressed in those clothes.
That was the precise moment she realized, looking down at his feet that – for some reason that made her nipples pebble – that she was naked. Completely naked. For the first time, she was nude to his eyes.
She didn’t like it, didn’t like the way he was watching her without her layers, no glasses, no clothes, nothing.
Stripped.
She felt raw.
