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I’m breathing hard. Sucking in air. Head tight, dizzy, hands into fists, feet planted. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything. I feel like I’m choking.
“It’s okay,” Liam says, coming toward me. “You’re okay.”
“I’m not,” I manage. “I’m not.” Fear starts to replace the rage. “I can’t breathe.”
“You can breathe. You’re doing it right now.”
“I feel dizzy. I feel—”
He catches me as I stumble away, holding me tight to his bare skin. “Panic attack. Just breathe with me. Come on, princess. Breathe with me.”
The nickname pisses me off, but maybe that’s what snaps me back into my body. I breathe with him, falling into rhythm, my face pressed against his chest. I can hear his heart racing like he’s excited to have me this close. I stay like that, breathing his smell, that cinnamon and spice, before I finally pull away. My hands tremble, my lips are numb, but I’m under control again.
“This has been a very stressful day,” I say, walking a few feet away.
“I agree,” he says. “Not the most ideal afternoon.”
“Why are you shirtless?” I glance at him. “It’s a bit much.”
“I was sweaty from our run. Wanted to shower.” He cocks his head. “Do you mind?”
“Yes. I mean, no, it’s not—” I shut my mouth. “Do whatever you want.”
“You can join me if you like. I have other ways to ease your tension.”
“I am absolutely not going to shower with you.” Though a tight excitement spirals into my guts at the thought. Liam’s body, his chiseled and magnificent chest, drenched in water as he pins me against the wall, his mouth doing unspeakable things, his fingers—
I shake my head to force the image away.
Liam’s smirk suggests he knows exactly what I was thinking. And that he’s thinking it too.
“Are you sure? You look like you need a release.”
I rub my face. “You’re unbelievable. I was just having a panic attack. I’m at my lowest. And you’re trying to fuck me?”
“I never said anything about fucking you, princess. I can get you off plenty of ways.”
“My god. You’re sick.”
“Only an offer.” He turns away. “I’ll be in the shower if you change your mind.”
I watch him go. There’s a broken part of me that’s tempted by the offer. Let his lips roam my skin. Let him make me feel good, feel anything but this miserable wreck.
Except it’s all part of his game.
His manipulation.
This is what he wants. He needs me drilled down into the floor, smashed down to little bits, so he can pick me back up. And when he does, he’ll get what he wants from me.
He’ll make me his wife. He’ll drag everything I know about my father’s business from my skull.
Then once this is all over?
I’ll be left with nothing.
And yet.
What my father said rolls on a loop in my skull.
I’ll kill you myself.
My own Papa, my flesh and blood, the man that raised me, that treated me like his favorite precious daughter, threatened to murder me.
And I think he meant it.
All for that bastard Rustik Aslan. All for money, power, connections. I’m not sure if he believes his own bullshit, but he’s sick.
Liam’s my only chance.
If I try this on my own, I’m screwed. Rustik will catch me and my life will be a living hell.
But if I take Liam up on his proposal, I’ll have some measure of power. I can get revenge on my father, on Rustik, on anyone that hurt my sister.
The shower water starts running. I picture Liam standing under it.
If I’m going to do this, then I’ll make sure I get what I want, even if it means making a deal with that beautiful monster.
Chapter 8
Alisa
Liam comes out wearing only his slacks, his chest still damp, a towel around his shoulders. He’s drying his hair and stops short when he spots me sitting on the bed, my legs crossed, the ruin of my wedding dress hiked so far up it’s almost scandalous.
I like the hunger in his eyes. Even if I don’t like him.
“I want to make a deal,” I say, letting him stare. Two can play his game. If he wants to prance around using sex against me, I’ll do the same thing. I shift slowly, letting him catch a glimpse of my ass, before recrossing my legs. He reacts slightly, eyes flicking to my skin. His tongue wets his lips.
He tilts his head. “Now you’re thinking rationally.”
“You’re right. I don’t have any other choice. I can either play ball with you or I can let Rustik and my father screw me over. And I am not about to let them murder my sister and get away with it.”
“What sort of deal do you want to make?” He grips either end of the towel, leaving it around his shoulders. His biceps and forearms bulge, surprisingly erotic.
Get it together, Alisa. I’m supposed to be the one distracting him with my body, not the other way around.
