Page 43 of Redeeming the Villain

I walk toward the door and pull it open, but Malik stops it, slamming it closed.

Spinning around, I realize he’s still touching the door, and I’m caged in beneath his arm. His body’s close enough that I feel the heat coming off of him in pulsing waves.

“What’s his name?” He leans down further, crouching low enough to meet my eyes, pinning his other hand against the door near my waist.

There’s no way … right?

He’s not … jealous?

Is he?

Oh, Isodo not have time for this.

“I’m not telling you. Now get out of my way before my knee finds a new home in your balls.” I smile up at him, knowing it doesn’t reach anywhere near my eyes.

His eyelids twitch, probably out of annoyance. “Who’s watching your dog?”

I scoff, crossing my arms. “That’s none of your concern.”

“Oh, so you’re being a bad dog mom, hoping to get laid?” he challenges me, making me feel like I’m going to explode from frustration.

He knows how to wind me up—it’s a skill he’s perfected over the years.

“Of course not. I have a sitter, you imbecile.” I roll my eyes. “Now get out of my way.”

He stays where he is, stubborn as always.

Pressing my hands against his bare, tattooed chest, I ignore how warm he is and shove him hard, but he doesn’t falter a single step.

My heart rate is picking up, racing faster because of his nearness. It’s putting me on edge in all of the good and bad ways.

I can smell his cologne, even now, without a shirt, like it’s his natural scent. And it’s delicious.

It also happens to be exactly what I smelled outside of my practice room earlier.

“Were you in the music hall today?” I ask him, changing the subject and gaining an odd boost of confidence.

His face hardens, his sharp features shifting back into stone. I didn’t even notice the softness and the warmth in his face until now, when it’s gone.

Leaning down, he hovers his mouth over my ear, and my heart starts to thump louder in my chest for his answer.

Was he watching me? Why the hell does that excite me as much as it does?

Anticipation rattles my bones, and a shiver runs down my back.

Then he opens his mouth and ruins any hope of a new version of him in my mind. “Get thefuckout of my house.”

Flattening my hands on his chest—on the large letters of the wordvillain—I push him off of me, flipping him off. “With pleasure.”

Throwing the front door open, I walk out into the chilly air—a stark difference from the heat burning in my cheeks. The door shuts behind me almost immediately, slamming closed with force.

Slowly walking down the stairs, I see Phillip’s car. Of course he had it flown in—his precious Rolls-Royce.

The driver’s door flings open, and he rushes out of his seat, looking up at me coming down the stairs with his arms held out.

“Alora!” he calls out happily.

He knows I have POTS and can’t run down the stairs toward him, no matter how excited I am.

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