Page 23 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

“Because I what, princess?”

It’s as if he can read my thoughts and is daring me to say them aloud. Or maybe I’m the one deluding myself. Still, I’m not one to back down. “Admit it. You wanted me for yourself.”

I swear it sounded less desperate in my head.

A sound escapes him, something between a purr and a growl that vibrates through every point where our bodies connect. His eyes stay fixed on the wall, but I can’t look away from the strong column of his neck, at the pulse hammering at the base of his throat.

“You’re a fucking bold one, aren’t you?” His whisper is both wonder and warning.

“Your hard-on isn’t exactly subtle either,” I breathe. “And last night, you gawked at me like a man dying of thirst.”

Finally, Rocky’s gaze drops to meet mine, and the intensity of those green depths hits me like a physical caress.

“Like this?”

“Yeah,” I whisper, unable to look away. “Just like that.”

Rocky’s teeth flash, straight and even, making me wonder how a scumbag like him can hit such a jackpot in the looks department.

“I wouldn’t have the foggiest clue what to do with someone like you,” he says roughly.

Something about his tone rings sincere, and Delilah’s insinuation that he is not straight echoes in my mind.

But the evidence pressing hard and hot against me would suggest otherwise. So would the flush creeping up his neck and the way his pupils have expanded, leaving only a fiery ring of green irises.

I swallow hard and drop my voice to a purr. “I think you do, Rocky. I’m surprised you’re not panting right now, given how hard your heart is racing.”

Before I can talk myself out of it, I reach up and touch his neck. His skin burns against my palm, like velvet over steel. The erratic pulse matches the frantic rhythm of my own heartbeat. A muscle jumps beneath my fingers, and I feel rather than hear his sharp intake of breath.

For one electric moment, Rocky leans into my touch. His eyes drift shut, dark lashes fanning against his cheeks, and something shifts in his expression—a crack in that iron control. I slide my fingers up, tracing the line of his stubbled jaw to the throbbing pulse.

Then, like a flipped switch, his eyes snap open. He recoils and takes several steps back so quickly he’s across the room before I can process the sudden loss of warmth where his body had been pressed against mine.

I’m shocked and stung by his reaction to my touch.

“Well,” I mutter, trying to mask my hurt with sarcasm. “Looks like I didn’t need to put my nose out of joint trying to fightyou off. All I had to do was touch you to get you to back off.”

“Get out,” he snarls. “Now.”

“Gladly,” I spit, even as my body screams in protest. Without another word, I snatch up the purse I dropped during our tussle, muttering under my breath.“Connard de merde.”

Just as I twist the knob, Rocky growls, “Stay the hell away from Delilah Sinclair.”

I freeze. “What?”

“She works for Hector. Grooms his victims for sale. She was delivering you last night.”

His words are like ice water, dousing the lingering heat of our encounter.

Delilah? The woman who’s been by my side since I returned to Chicago? It can’t be true. There’s no way. Delilah would never . . . she wouldn’t . . .

I shake my head, desperately clinging to the last shreds of what I thought was true.

“You don’t understand. I was the one who suggested we hang out last night.”

Rocky’s voice cuts through my denial like a blade. “Really? Did you also choose the time, place, and company?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. Unable to face him or the implications, I yank the door open and stumble forward, but his words swirl around my head like angry hornets, leaving me disoriented.

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