Page 14 of Mysterious Mate

"Enough," he barked, his voice trembling with restrained fury. "Pick it up and get dressed. Now."

Willow straightened slowly, her movements deliberate. She looked at him over her shoulder, a smirk playing on her lips. For a moment, their eyes locked, a silent battle of wills. Then, with maddening slowness, she bent down again, picked up the swimsuit, and began to put it on.

Cage turned away, forcing himself to breathe deeply, to regain his composure. Willow was testing him, pushing his boundaries, and he couldn't afford to lose control. Not yet. But as he stood there, the image of her defiant stance burned into his mind, he knew that the day was coming when she would learn exactly who was really in charge.

CHAPTER 8

WILLOW

Willow walked along the beach, the sand warm beneath her feet, but her mind was far from the tranquility of the ocean waves. Cage walked a step behind her and to the side, his presence a constant reminder of the tension that had been simmering between them for weeks. Since that day on the beach, he had been around but always official, formal, and aloof. It frustrated her no end. The swats he’d given her had been confusing. Instead of anger, they had ignited something within her, something she wasn’t entirely comfortable acknowledging—not in real life, anyway.

She should have slapped his face, should have told him off. But instead, her whole erotic system had lit up like the holiday tree in Rockefeller Center. She replayed the scene in her mind over and over, wondering what it meant and why it affected her so much.

Distracted by her thoughts, she stepped on a patch of sand far softer than she had anticipated and started to fall as its stability gave way beneath her feet. Cage's strong arms were there in an instant, catching her and holding her close for far longer than he should have. Their eyes locked, and Willow's heart pounded in her chest. She could feel his breath on her lips, the closeness of his body making hers come alive.

For a moment, she thought he might kiss her. He leaned in, his eyes dark with an emotion she couldn't quite read. But then he straightened, his expression once again becoming a mask of control as he let her go.

"Thank you," she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. She watched him, searching his face for any sign that he felt the same pull she did. But if he did, he gave nothing away.

She couldn't stand it any longer. The man's stoic reserve was driving her insane. She knew she was attracted to him. She wasn’t bad looking and would be single after she got divorced or had her marriage annulled or whatever. Her life was in danger, and sex would be a great way to pass the time on this quiet island. Why was he refusing to even notice her that way?

Did the way her body had responded to the abbreviated spanking he’d given her disgust him? She shivered at the memory. Her e-reader was filled with all kinds of novels about alpha males who subdued the women in their lives with dominant sex and spanking. God, she hoped he didn’t know that. But those three harsh smacks had kicked her fantasies starring Cage into overdrive.

She stole a glance at him and saw his jaw set in that same impenetrable line. "Cage," she began, her voice uncertain. "Do you...do you ever think about what happened on the beach?"

He turned to look at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What do you mean?"

Her frustration bubbled over. "I mean, do you ever think about me? As more than just someone you have to look after?"

His expression didn’t change, but she saw a flicker of something in his eyes. "Willow, my job is to keep you safe. Nothing more."

Her heart sank at his words, but she refused to give up. "Is that really all I am to you? Because it feels like there's more."

He looked away, his hands clenching at his sides. "It doesn't matter what I feel. What matters is keeping you safe."

She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "It matters to me."

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, finally, he turned back to her, his eyes intense. "Willow, I..."

But whatever he was going to say was lost as he abruptly turned away, his control once again asserting itself. Willow watched him, her frustration and desire mingling into a heady mix of emotions. She didn't know how much longer she could take his steely reserve. But one thing was clear: she wasn't going to give up. Not yet. Not when she felt she was so close to breaking through the walls he had built around himself.

Of course, for all she knew, Cage was an assassin sent by Frank or his buddies at the Shadow League. That thought should have quelled any desire she had for him, but it didn’t. If anything, the idea that he might be an assassin, completely forbidden, was even more intoxicating.

Willow knew she was being an absolute idiot and that the stories in her novels were just that—fiction. But she didn’t care. She wanted him more with each passing day. And not just because it might keep him from killing her. It was something darker that made her want the man who might take her life. She couldn’t deny that she wanted to feel his hands around her throat, but only to heighten her pleasure. God, she’d lived too long with Frank and read way too many erotic novels. Not everybody got a happy ending.

Willow felt a burning shame for her thoughts and fantasies. The way he looked at her made her wonder if he could read her thoughts. The idea that he could made her want to throw up, and she turned to run to her room, wanting to lock herself away from him before she made a complete fool of herself.

It was all in her head. Any attraction she thought he might have for her was all in her head. Guys like Cage Weston didn’t fall for women who looked like her. They fell for supermodels, right? What was wrong with her? Was she losing her mind? And if she was, would she be able to maintain her sanity until the danger was over?

She stopped just outside her room, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts. Maybe she should find a way to get a message to Mercy. Surely someone had a number to call if Willow needed emergency help. But who could she ask? The people she saw moving in and around the island seemed to have nothing to do with the castle, and everyone here at the keep seemed to answer to Cage in some weird way. How do you ask for help when you want to sleep with a man who might be there to kill you? God, this was so fucked up, and so was she.

Leaning against the door frame, she closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. She was letting her imagination run wild, allowing her fears and desires to mix in a dangerous cocktail of confusion. Cage had given her no reason to distrust him, but the uncertainty gnawed at her. The way he had avoided her since that day on the beach, the formal distance he maintained—it all fed into her paranoia.

She shook her head, pushing away the doubts. She needed to be strong, to keep herself together until this was all over. But the ache inside her, the longing for Cage, was making it difficult. She wanted to trust him, to believe that he was there to protect her, not harm her. But the shadows of her past and the betrayal she had endured with Frank made it hard to trust anyone.

Taking a deep breath, Willow stepped into her room and closed the door behind her. She needed to clear her head, to focus on something other than her tangled emotions. Maybe she should take a break from the romance novels she usually read and pick up something different. Agatha Christie and Jane Austen sounded like a good start.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, she picked up her e-reader and started browsing for a new book. But her mind kept drifting back to Cage, to the way he had looked at her, the way his touch had set her on fire. She couldn't escape the pull he had on her, no matter how hard she tried.

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