Page 46 of Desperate People

Past the state-of-the-art security panel I installed myself.

Up the stairs toward the master wing.

This house was built to keep people out.

But now?

It’s about keeping her in.

Safe. Guarded. Mine.

And God help anyone who tries to change that.

I don’t stop at any of the guest bedrooms.

Don’t even slow down.

I carry her straight to mine.

The master suite sits at the back of the house, tucked behind reinforced walls and blackout glass.

No one sees what happens here unless I want them to.

I balance her easily with one arm as I twist the doorknob.

She stirs against me, lashes fluttering. Not fully awake, but not quite asleep either.

Then, like a punch straight to my gut, she shifts.

Arms loop around my neck. Legs wrap around my waist.

Fuck.

My breath catches, and I hum something low in my throat, something primal, like an anchor to keep me grounded.

But I don’t put her down.

I can’t.

She’s too warm. Too soft. Too close.

Every part of her is a temptation.

And I’ve tried to resist for too long, but now she’s clinging to me like I’m the only thing tethering her to the earth, and nothing is taking her from my arms.

Not even the Devil himself.

We reach the bed, and I dip low, lowering her gently onto the comforter.

She sits up slowly, blinking at me through those long, dark lashes.

Her hair’s a mess, her lipstick half-faded, and she’s never looked more perfect.

Then she bites her lip.

Jesus. H. Christ.

That one small gesture is enough to send heat pooling low in my gut, tension spiking in my spine like a live wire.

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