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I always admire him, even if he terrifies me and makes me feel more fretful than an actress who’s had her “discreet” nose job exposed. A siren flares in the distance and the sound makes me jump. Luckily Dacre doesn’t notice.
“Why don’t you come closer? I won’t bite.”
“Your dog might,” I mutter, throwing a nervous glance at Baldur. The wolf/dog hybrid follows Dacre everywhere and it’s really true that you can tell a lot about a person by looking at their pet. They’re both about as approachable as a haunted house.
“He won’t,” Dacre says curtly. “You’re safe.”
Dacre slowly turns around and my breath catches somewhere between my lungs and my throat. Midnight blue eyes zone in on me, picking up on every little detail and it’s so painfully obvious I’m not even close to his type.
I’m too...pretty.
And someone like Dacre’s probably into leather, whips and chains or something.
He raises his brows, drawing attention to the tattoos he has above the arches. He’s the only man I’ve ever seen who has ink on his face but dresses like a gothic version of a Wall Street broker.
“Something wrong?” he asks in a low voice and I want to tell him all about the blackmail. When I press my lips, he impatiently insists, “Greta?”
A sudden impulse rips through my body. I want to run over to him, yank his arms open and cocoon myself within them. I need comfort. Need it so bad it’s probably written all over my face.
“You can tell me,” Dacre presses, his tone a little more urgent but I shake my head.
I’d rather wear clothes from the high-street for the rest of my life than tell Dacre about the blackmail.
“If there’s anything you want or need, just say it,” Dacre grits between his teeth and I flush.
I could use a hug. I’m not sure if I dare let myself be hugged by Dacre but I’m distressed and confused and reach a hesitant hand out.
Surprise covers his face but he raises his palm and my heart pounds worse than drums on a rock concert when I’m about to give him mine...But then I retract when Baldur curiously rises and I gasp for air and flee.
2.
Dacre
Fuck! I was so close.
Scowling down at Baldur, I snarl, “Cock blocking the hand that feeds you?”
Baldur growls in response and I add, “Next time when she’s ready to go anywhere near us, you’ll act like a fucking lamb or I’ll make kibble out of you and feed it to the neighborhood cats, got it?”
The dog snorts and I drag a hand over the back of my neck as agony at the loss fills me.
Greta Monty.
The chit that’s been driving me to the edge of my existence this past year. My life was going fine without her. I was on a roll. Threaten. Kill. Threaten some more...
Then she showed up and everything changed forever. All of the sudden she was the new priority. Suddenly she was the one I first thought of when waking up and the last when going to sleep.
She’s monopolized my hours, my thoughts...even my body operates on the little attention Greta gives me.
We never would’ve crossed paths if it hadn’t been for my irresponsible father.
I was giving him generous amounts of money he was supposed to save for his pension but instead he used it to pick up a snobbish middle-aged starlet and marry her behind my back. I was furious, ready to give him a piece of my mind when I was introduced to my new step-sister.
Greta was unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
Calm, cool and collected like a porcelain doll. Fragile. Flawless. The very opposite of me.
I wanted to jump her the moment I saw her, have my way with her up against the wall no matter who was watching. I wanted to mess her up, ruin her perfect little coiffure and smear her lipstick. Tear off her ladylike designer dresses and lick her creamy skin.
