Page 25 of Dark Reasons

Jamison blinks, considering me carefully. "You know something I don't?"

"The cameras," I say, and I start to smile. My confidence is returning; I push against his hand, brushing away his finger. "They're all over the outside of this place. If you hurt me, you won't be able to disappear like a ghost the way youloveto."

Jamison doesn't budge. Not even when I try to sit up. His pressure is constant, keeping me down on my pillow. The light from the window barely touches his face, giving his features a blankness, like a grand cliff side. "I almost feel bad for you," he says.

My heart jolts. "What?"

"Your cameras don't work. Not a single one."

There's ice in my veins, the cold shifting through me at rapid speed until my toes curl. "You're wrong. I know for a fact—"

"You have very nice neighbors," he muses. "The one with the white chihuahua, Mr. Gloss? He was kind enough to talk with me while walking his dog out front, when I was deciding where to grab food. He lamented that the cameras haven't worked for years."

As simple as that, my advantage is gone.

Jamison is reading my face, catching every flicker of fear before I can hide it away. He traces his thumb along my jaw line the way you'd follow the petal of a flower you're deciding to pluck. "The last time I had you like this... you told me to do whatever I liked to you."

Tiny bubbles rush through my belly, chasing each other down to my toes. "I was taunting you."

"And now?" he whispers thickly, leaning closer until I can smell nothing but him. "Are you taunting me again?"

Talking is a chore... it takes all my focus. "I don't know what you mean."

"The way your breath gets short." His knuckle glides on my cheek, then back down to my shoulder. Goosebumps lift firmly; I gasp, twisting under his touch. "How your skin becomes this unique shade of red... Your reactions taunt me, Selena. I can't tell if you egg me on because you like this..." The hand on my chest flattens me firmly into my bed. "Or if you truly don't believe I could harm you."

"Could you?" I whisper.

His eyes swarm with pools of galaxy black. "Yes." His free hand roams down the path between my breasts, then back up again. Sweet heat surges through my center, my feet twisting, pressing together under the blanket. I'm trying to hold still... to stare into his face and not react... but I'm failing tremendously. "And even now, when I tell you this bluntly, you tremble with desire. Why is that?"

"It's in your head," I whimper. "You're wrong. You're sick and wrong."

"Which of us is sick?" he asks softly, stroking around the outside of my right breast through the fabric of my shirt. I crumple my toes and bite my tongue. "You're not good at hiding how you feel. I can see and smell how much I excite you."

I swallow down a moan. My pride demands I get a grip... that I not admit he's right, to him or to myself. "Is that something you're proud of?" I ask. I force a cruel smile across my lips, eyeing him closely. "How much you lack emotion, compared to me? I wouldn't brag about being a blank box."

"Blank?" The edges of his eyes crinkle; two of his fingers tracejustoutside of my hard nipple where it pushes against my shirt. Wet heat spreads between my thighs, my pussy clenching. "If I'm hard to read, that's on you to solve. Or do you like everything in your world to be easy." When he utterseasy,he flicks his thumb over the top of my breast.

I gasp, arching my spine, thoughtlessly pressing my chest towards him. He withdraws his fingers—denying me more. There's no emotion in his face. He doesn't care that he's fucking with my body and my mind, making me want him... making me hate him.

"You don't understand me at all," I whisper, glaring hotly. Jamison studies me as the air crackles between us.

"Understanding you is my goal," he says solemnly.

What does he mean by that?

Even if he's emotionless, he's not cold. Not anymore. I can sense it around us, like a volcano signaling it's on the verge of erupting. Energy coalesces in his irises, the dip of his throat flexing.

"Your mask," I say, "is slipping."

His perfect lips tug tighter. "There is no mask. There never was." His face drops down, his breath in my ear, his voice in my brain. "I've never pretended to be anything other than what I am."

"What's that, a killer?" I manage to reply, in spite of how my body is shaking.

"Yes. I kill for money." Something hard clips my ear—his teeth? I shudder, trying to survive the new rush of arousal. "I don't let my emotions get the better of me, unlike you."

Clenching my jaw, I try to face him, but he grips my hair to hold me still. His other hand seeks out my stomach... trailing over my skin beneath my shirt, making little circles that become buzzing heat that descend ever lower. "Wanting to get revenge isn't wrong," I whimper.

"Your desire controls you. In your urge to blindly kill, and even now, here, with me." Jamison's long fingers reach under the blankets, finding my shorts, tapping the zipper. He goes lower, tickling the soft skin of my creamy upper thighs.

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