Page 140 of SINS & Riley
“I’m not possessive.”
Okay. Maybe a little. Maybe to the point where I’d happily claw another woman’s eyes out if she so much as looks at him.
But I’m not giving him the satisfaction of saying that to his face.
Before I can pop more of the delicious croissant in my mouth, he jabs a knife into the jam and slathers it on the piece I'm about to bite into.
And it is heaven.
I stifle a moan and glare at him, but it bounces right off.
“You can relax, Riley.” His gaze pins me. “There’s no other woman for me. The woman coming here—it’s business. Nothing more.”
The strange part is…I believe him. Against my better judgment, I think he’s telling the truth.
I chew slowly, the words slipping out smaller than I mean them to. Sad. “If it’s business, then why are you trying to get rid of me?”
He lifts my chin. “Because you are my world, and I need you safe.”
The word set an alarm bell. Safe. It sounds less like safety and more like he's worried.
“What if I don’t want to go?” I whisper, the disappointment burning thick in my throat.
He catches my hand, brings it to his lips, and presses slow along each finger. “It’s not forever.”
“Swear?” My voice cracks as I hold out my pinky like a child bargaining with fate.
He doesn’t hesitate. Hooks his finger around mine. “Pinky swear.”
“How soon?” I try for professional, detached.
“I was hoping to get you out of here today.”
“Tomorrow?” I counter, batting thick lashes up at him, laying it on.
He exhales, thinking it over, then tilts his head. “And what will you give me if I let you stay until tomorrow?”
I smile sweetly. “Me. Any way you want.”
He doesn’t hesitate. His mouth crashes down on mine. A savage kiss like he’s been dying of thirst and I’m the only drop of water left on Earth.
His hunger devours me, dizzying, until I can’t breathe.
The sound that rumbles from him is a low, primal growl. Like if he doesn’t have me right now, the world will end.
God, I love that sound.
He strips off his clothes. I strip off mine. His takes no time at all while I’m stuck fumbling with the bra clasp, fingers slipping uselessly over the hooks.
He watches, amused.
I've been squeezing my ever-growing puppies into the stupid bra, and now the clasp is stuck. Heat creeps up my neck until I huff, exasperated.
“Seriously? Who designed these things?” I sneer. “A sadist?”
His laugh rumbles across my skin, curling heat low in my belly. He nods toward the butcher block. “Pick your pleasure.”
My breath catches. It’s twisted, but I’m like a kid in a candy store when it comes to knives.
