Page 115 of Stalker

“Why don’t you tell me? The women my father killed with a single exception weren’t crimes of passion. They were calculated murders to appease the beast inside.”

Her mouth pinched and she purposely turned away. “I don’t need to see any more, Wilder. I know your father is dangerous. I know how serial killers think.”

“Good.” She only believed she did.

I could watch her all day long no matter what she was doing, but there was something extremely sensual about how she closed her eyes, issuing a slight moan just before swallowing the liquid.

As soon as she pulled the glass away, I couldn’t help myself, wrapping one hand around the back of her neck while dropping my head. I captured her mouth much like I’d done before, but for so many reasons, this time was even sweeter. I held her lips in place as I breathed in her sweet perfume. Even the long day of fighting against the wrongs of the world, attempting to implicate my company hadn’t hidden her sweet essence.

The way her body yielded to mine proved her acceptance that she belonged to me.

Or perhaps she was attempting to fool me.

When I finally drove my tongue inside, she stiffened. Her breathing had slowed, her soft moans easily captured as I explored the dark and wet recesses. As usual, my cock swelled, not only from the touch, but also from the thought of what I would do in the darkness of night.

Cassandra wrapped one hand around my shirt, still clinging to the glass with the other. Why did I have the feeling once I abandoned the kiss, she’d follow her instincts, attempting to catch me off guard? Perhaps by slamming the crystal into my head or… perhaps she’d learned even darker methods.

As usual, the thought pushed my cock to full attention. Discovering all her secrets was more than just a delight fulfilled. It was a necessity.

I kept my hold even as I broke the intimate embrace. Her lips were quivering, matching her suddenly trembling body, but her eyes were explicit, even foreboding.

“Nice try, Wilder. Or perhaps I should call you the Stalker.”

She pushed away, laughing from an admission she hoped or perhaps knew would catch me off guard.

And it did.

The moniker was private, no one in the last fifteen years daring to whisper the word synonymous with violence and retaliation.

Cassandra pushed away and I allowed her.

Even though I longed to drown in her scent.

Perhaps I bristled and she noticed. Perhaps I sucked in my breath. I rarely reacted when I heard something I didn’t particularly care for. I’d trained myself that in every situation, a nonreaction was best. But as with all things involving my Lady Butterfly, neither my training nor my personal rules seemed to apply.

At least when presented with a challenge.

She still had my glass in her hand, dancing as she moved to a nonexistent drum of music toward my impressive bar. She didn’t survey the three dozen liquors I’d carefully selected or search for ice when a small but efficient refrigerator was within reach. She simply poured more than a half glass full of my desired libation.

God above, the woman was a testament to my patience and the intensity of my needs.

Unbridled as they were.

As soon as she took another sip, something shifted from deep within. I not only felt another wafting hint of her fear, I could smell it.

“Where did you hear that?” I asked.

“Does it matter?”

“In truth, yes, it does.”

“Don’t toy with me, Wilder. While I have enjoyed the games we’ve played, your exclamation about the danger I’m in and the fact I was taken prisoner puts a damper on your idea of a good time.”

“Yours as well.” Who the fuck had told her the name? No one knew it, perhaps except for my brothers.

“No more games. No more secrets.”

“Why do you think this is a game?”

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