Page 24 of A Trap So Flawless

I should be spitting at him and scratching him, just like I did the last time I saw him.

The last time I saw him…

It feels like a lifetime ago. And yet he’s so fucking familiar. Those faded blue jeans. Tight T-shirt. Tattoos. Those hands that have held me. Saved me. Taken from me. Trapped me.

I want to slap him.

I want to bury my face in his chest.

I want to feel him inside me again. Even though I said that it could only happen once.

I want to pretend we never met. Pretend that I’m still just me and he’s still just him. Two entities existing around each other and never quite colliding.

My throat aches. I think I say something.

Maybe mouth his name.

But all I hear is a sob. My bag hits the ground.

My knees will be next. It’s going to hurt. They’re raw from kneeling among the glass at Sofia’s. I brace for the pain even if I know there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

His scent. His heat. It’s all around me. His hands are on my upper arms, squeezing through the fabric of my thin sweater. My legs are completely devoid of strength. They hang limp, suspended like a puppet with its strings cut.

A frisson of energy goes through Darragh. I feel his fingers give a violent twitch around my arms. Through gathering tears, I see the muscles of his biceps and chest jump. When I dare a look at his face, I realize it’s not just energy – it’s emotion. Probably a bad one. Anger. Jealousy. Hatred. He already despised my entire family, and that was before they trundled me off to marry somebody else.

Whatever that seething emotion is, it’s carved into his fucking face. His jaw is stone-hard, his eyes red-rimmed and hungry, scouring like they’re searching for something to use against me.

“You’re crying,” he rasps. I feel the tears escaping, running down my cheeks. I press my lips together, refusing to let another pathetic sob come out. I already nearly collapsed in front of him. I don’t need to show any other weakness right now.

A cruel smirk tugs at one side of his mouth. “That terrible to be with me again, pet? That you have to weep at the sorry sight of me?”

A sorry sight. As if Darragh Gowan could be anything close to that. But he does look bad. Beautiful… But bad. He looks even more exhausted than when I saw him a week ago in Toronto. His face is gaunt and paler than I remember.

I wonder if he’s eating.

I wonder if he’s sleeping.

I am crying at the sight of him. But not because of fear or even anger at this point. It’s like I saw him, and my entire body just… let go. I looked at him, standing in a country I’ve never set foot in before, and some stupid, crazy part of me said, Home.

Another spasm rocks Darragh’s frame. He’s still got me by my upper arms. Our chests are brushing, but not fully touching. My treacherous body wants to sink into him. I wonder if he’s fighting a similar urge. The urge to draw me hard against him and hold me.

But Darragh Gowan isn’t one for hugs at the best of times.

And not a single fucking soul on Earth could say that this moment qualifies as the best of times.

I don’t answer his question. I don’t want to tell him that it is terrible to be with him. Not for the reasons he implied, but because this haunting desire I feel for him, this poisonous sense of homecoming, is so wrong.

Instead, a question of my own bubbles out, bursting between gasped breaths.

“What are you going to do to me?”

There’s a chance that he could kill me yet. He’s bloodthirsty and vengeful. I already knew this about him before I went and married someone else. And isn’t that what he always said? I won’t kill you tonight.

Maybe tonight is the night that will finally change.

“Why do you think I’m going to do something to you?” Darragh asks. He’s leaning closer to me now. I feel his voice against my mouth and shiver in his hold.

Because I married someone else. Because even though it’s irrational and unfair, I still feel like somehow I’ve betrayed you.

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