Page 55 of Million Dollar High

Fingers shaking, he pulled down her zipper. With every inch of skin exposed, the blood thrummed in his ears until all he could hear was the sound of his rage.

“Jesus, Leia! He did this to you, and you asked me to spare him?” His voice trembled badly. Feeling his eyes itch, he rubbed them. His hands came away wet.

The hell…?

Turning away sharply, he strode to the window, one hand spiking into his hair. He tugged hard, making his scalp scream and his eyes sting even more. Reassuring himself that the wetness came from the pain, rather than any other stupid emotion, he slammed his hand against the window.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, the urge to howl in pain and frustration building inside him.

When her hand settled on his back, he stiffened.

“I didn’t just take it, Noah. I fought back. His face was already aching before you punched him tonight. And he’ll need an ice pack for his balls for the next month.”

Bitterness churned his stomach. “If you’re saying that to make me feel better, save it.”

“I’m not. I promise.”

His breath shuddered out. “Go to the bathroom, Leia. I’ll be there in a minute.” He didn’t want her to see the state he was in.

She walked away without argument.

He pressed his forehead against the glass and closed his eyes.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he walk away from her? From the very first moment they’d met, he’d known she had the power to turn him inside out. Hell, she’d proved that over and over since then. He’d believed he was a masochist only when it came to sex.

Now, he was starting to believe he was defective enough to like having his heart ripped out and shredded repeatedly. To his knowledge, only foolish assholes who made the mistake of falling in love?—

Hell no…

He’d made the mistake of thinking himself in love with Ashley and had ended up in an NYPD cell for his troubles. And even if he was prepared to make room in his life for the possibility of love, Leia had made it clear she wanted nothing like that from him. Sex was what she wanted.

Well, sex was what she would get.

Gritting his teeth and forcing the absurd trembling in his body to cease, he toed off his shoes, removed his shirt and crossed the room to the bathroom.

She was reaching behind her with her uninjured hand, squirming to grasp her zipper. Her hair had lost its fight to stay up and tumbled down her back, hiding most of the bruises.

“I told you to wait for me,” he snapped.

“No, you ordered me to go to the bathroom.”

That little hint of fire sparked a flame in his belly, eating through the icy rage engulfing him.

Moving her hand away, he took over, lowered her zipper and let her dress drop. She stepped out of it, clad in only white, lace-topped stockings and a matching thong.

He crouched and came eye to eye with the bruise on her hip. The sound that escaped his throat didn’t seem human.

She glanced warily at him. “It looks worse than it feels.”

“Is that supposed to appease me? Because it’s not working.” He pulled off her thong and rolled down her stockings. Her hand steadied on his shoulder as she lifted each foot. Her fingers slid over his nape and curled into his hair, caressing gently.

“Tell me what will work and I’ll do it,” she murmured.

Pulling her fingers free, he stood, pushed her into the shower stall and turned on the jets, making sure to keep her bandaged wrist out of the spray. He didn’t want to spend time drying her hair, so he twisted it up in a bun on top of her head. Then, grabbing a cloth, he washed her.

“Your… your trousers are getting wet.”

Noah ignored her, focused on getting the job done before he lost it. Each bruise he washed made rage thicken his blood. Every inch of smooth skin made him crave her with a wildness that reminded him he’d been helpless against their insane chemistry from the very start.

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