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“No.” I take her arms, kiss her again.
“I hate you,” she says against my mouth before I pry her lips open, taste her tongue but retreat quickly before she bites. I know she will. Weaving my fingers into her hair, I tug her head backward, look at her eyes, which are wells of water. Her pulse is racing at her throat.
“That’s a lie.” I close my mouth over hers, swallowing her protest. “I don’t think you hate me. Not even a little bit.”
“I do.”
“I remember how you looked when you came. I think about it often.”
“Stop.”
“How you called my name.”
She drops her head down, and I cup her face with both hands, set my mouth against her forehead.
“I remember how you clung to me like you needed me to breathe.”
“Stop.”
I tilt her face up, thumbs wiping at tears. “Kiss me and I’ll stop.”
“Why? So you can call me a whore again and feel better about yourself? I’m engaged to Ethan, Silas. It’s too late.”
“It’s not too late.” She tries to break free but I hold on. “I lied to you, too, Ophelia. Just now.” That makes her stop. “Because that night, it didn’t just meansomething. It meant everything to me.”
She looks confused like this is not what she was expecting and this time, when I kiss her, she doesn’t just take the kiss. She kisses me back, and I think we can fix this. Maybe we can fix this. At least, I think that momentarily before she closes her teeth over my lower lip, hard.
I break free, touch my thumb to my bloody lip.
“I’ll only ever kiss Ethan that way. Not you. Never again you,” she says, and I’m not sure what she intends but the mention of Ethan Fox, the thought of him with his hands on her uncoils something dark inside me.
“Careful,” I warn.
“What? Don’t you like the idea of Ethan kissing me? Touching me? His hands on me?”
I slam my fist against the wall by her head and she jumps, the look in her eyes shifting as she realizes she didn’t just wound me.
She woke the beast.
I grip a handful of hair and tug her head backward. It hurts, I can tell from her whimper as she tries to pry my hand off.
“I don’t like it,” I say, walking her toward the dining room table, swiping the papers lying there to the floor and bending her over it. I grip her wrists with one hand at her lower back and kick her legs apart, settling myself between them. I press my erection against her jean-clad ass. “Tell me something. Tell me what you feel when he touches you.”
“Let me go.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Fine. I’ll tell you. Nothing. You feel nothing with him. You can’t.”
“You’re wrong, Silas.”
I bend to kiss the beating pulse at her neck. “Because it’s me that makes your pulse race. It’s my touch that does it.”
“It’s not.”
“I should strip you naked. Take you here and now. Make you mine and finish this.”
