Page 124 of The Ruthless Note

Maybe that’s the solution. Rather than playing with a burning forest fire and thinking I can survive, I can go light a match. It’ll burn either way, but at least I have a higher chance of coming out of one alive.

I turn to the door when Dutch’s dark voice cuts me to the quick.

“Take one more step. I dare you.”

I whirl around, my nostrils flaring.

Dutch shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair. “You want a swimming lesson, Brahms? You can have one.”

Sol is the safer choice.

I should insist on leaving.

I should find anyone else to fulfil Jinx’s requirement.

But it’s like my body doesn’t belong to me anymore. Not when Dutch places his fingers around my wrist and sears me with the heat of his touch.

I follow him to the pool. The stench of chlorine brings back memories of Christa pushing me in.

In the space of a moment, I relive the water rushing straight to my lungs. The burn. The fear. The thought that I would never see Vi again.

Dutch stops and cups my chin in his hands. My eyes meet his dark, burning ones and I swear, as golden as they are, the shadows are gathering like a thunderstorm on the horizon.

“Nothing is going to happen to you.” His voice is low and firm. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Brahms.”

Weirdly enough, in spite of all the horrible things he’s done to me, I believe him.

He steps back, his big hands going for the hem of his shirt. I watch as he tears his shirt over his head. The muscles in his arms bunch and swell with the movement. My eyes fall on the ink tainting the generous swell of his bicep.

A memory of raking my nails along that marked skin drags like a ragged line through my heart.

“Are you going in there fully clothed?” Dutch asks, a hint of a dare in his voice. He gestures to me. “Take it off.”

My body is shaking with a mix of frustration, danger and desire. I’mthisclose to throwing it all out the window, but when I think of Serena and Miller’s stupid crap-eating grin, I can’t do it.

“Turn around,” I hiss.

His lips curl up. “Feeling shy, Brahms?”

“Just… turn around,” I snap.

He does, his shoulders moving like well-oiled pistons as he turns to face the pool.

I undo my scarf, the soft fabric kissing my neck as it loosens. It doesn’t make a sound when it falls to the floor. Twisting around, I try to reach the buttons at my back, but I can’t seem to get my fingers to function. Giving up with a huff, I debate my next move.

Dutch turns around. “Need some help?”

“I told you not to look,” I snap. But I’m not taking my own advice. My eyes are stuck on the rolling abs on Dutch’s body. He’s a lean, oiled machine. Dangerous and far too close.

His self-assured smirk tells me he knows I’m checking him out.

Flames burn my cheeks. I give him my back. “Unbutton this for me.”

“Ask nicely and I might be convinced.”

I twist my neck and pin him with a dark look. “When have we ever been nice to each other?”

He chuckles and undoes the buttons. The silence is so thick, I almost wish he would say something so we can fight. It’s better than the building tension that rides our deepening breaths and the sharp sense of awareness tinting the room as each button falls loose to reveal more and more of my skin.

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