Page 14 of Hostile Vows
A sexy grunt rolls from deep within his chest. “There she is… there’s that Irish fire.” Broad shoulders pull back, so his posture rises that bit higher, securing his position on the pedestal he’s used to sitting on. “Finally found your voice—huh? For a second there, I thought you’d chosen to stay quiet so your daddy wouldn’t hear us play.”
Bastard. He thinks my ill-fated situation is a joke. Something to use to his advantage without a single scrap of empathy.
I glance behind him and shelve my hands on my hips. “I’d like you to leave now. We’re done catching up.”
“Oh, Sin…” He pinches a lock of my hair and gently winds it around his forefinger, the act so unbearably tender it turns the carpet underfoot to quicksand. “We’re far from done.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
The smile he wears flickers, ghostly in its appearance, hauntingly beautiful, but terrifying and marked with darkness. André doesn’t reply and on my next tattered breath, he unwinds the strands and slowly thumbs his mouth.
“I knew who you were from the second I saw those unforgettable eyes of yours, and now I know you’re Sapori’sprincess.” His low chuckle creates a tsunami of goosebumps all over me. “Should we melt this frosty disposition of yours and find out how much heat you can handle before you get hitched?”
“Get the fuck out of my room.”
He secures my jaw in a lightning snap, the tips of his fingers hollowing my cheeks. “Your mouth is telling me fuck off, but those eyes of yours are saying something else. Say it again, but this time tell me to leave with your eyes. Bet you can’t…” His pupils flare.
I suck in sharply and straighten my spine that little bit more. My defensive stance earns a smooth smile. A roguish grin that tells me he’s not here for catching up. I narrow my eyes at his unshaven face with as much sincerity as I can muster, cursing myself for tripping into the dark pools staring back at me.
“Leave. Me. Alone.” I punctuate each word, only to witness his cheek dent, a wicked dimple teasing me.
As he stands here, dominating the shadows, I remind myself that he’s a murderer who depletes decorum and hemorrhages arrogance. Regardless of those unpalatable qualities crisscrossed into his persona, it angers me how I still find him attractive.
“I’ll give you a four out of ten for effort.” He winks at me. “However, that telltale vein pulsating in your proud neck is like a wild horse without a stable. You haven’t changed one bit. Quietly hungry for adventure. Always aching for a charge of adrenaline to feed your soul. Indulge me. Tell me what fantasies you’ll play out for your new husband on your wedding night.” The gritty texture to his tone is provocative and rich in the purest form of seduction. “Will you think about me?”
I know he’s goading me for a reaction. However, my senses get all mixed up. From his deep carnal voice and cast-iron supremacy to his red-blooded intentions—all of him shakes the floor beneath me, weakening my morals. I’m alive next to him, just like I was every time he took me for a ride on his motorcycle. I haven’t felt that potent rush since. Not even in my rebellious teens, when I dated the older guy in school purely for the fact he owned a cool Honda.
Even then, his personality had failed to meet my needy expectations. I craved a deviant soul who would save me from the tedium of winter nights. Not unlike the young boy I once knew who’d created the perfect mold, yet refused to fit into it.
Although now that André’s dark vibrations sear my veins in this unusual way, I hate him for it. For assuming he has the right to abuse our innocent past like this. I refuse to let another man take from me, whether it’s my pride or my will. This underhanded deviant behavior is manipulation at the lowest level. He won’t succeed, because I respect myself too much to give in. The devil’s soul lives in a body primed for fucking and I’m perfectly capable of denying it.
When daring fingertips skate lower, he hooks them under the neckline of my top and drags the stretchy material toward my navel. I almost whimper when the pads of his fingers skim my already aroused nipples.
The second I squeeze my eyes closed to block the sight of him, memories of a younger, caring André flood my mind. Shutting him out doesn't make a difference, though. Every detail of his younger face is a hazy daydream, and his overwhelming presence is a reality.
“It’s easier to see all of me when your eyes are open.” His Colombian accent caresses my scalp, so the hairs rise in waves.
My heart hammers against the bone cage, protecting it, threatening a blip of sanity. Yet somehow, I manage to stay rigid like a sharp-edged sword ready to draw blood.
“Do you think your husband will bite and suck these tits while he fucks you?” My lashes flick up when he strokes the shivery flesh.
He teases my nipple with his thumb and forefinger, leaning into the movement, his physique so big it seems like he’s taking up every corner of the cabin. Charges of electricity fire up my muscles, cruelly making my blood cells hotter than a sunbaked island where there’s no shade.
“Stop it,” I hiss, barely recognizing the desperation splintering my demand. “Back the fuck off, Dré. You can’t barge into my room and grope me like we know each other. We don’t. Not anymore.”
He grabs my breast and squeezes again. It takes every last drop of stubbornness within me not to groan. His head moves from side to side, the motion controlled like a pendulum. “It’s all in your eyes, Sin… I can see you aren’t afraid of my monsters. You want an introduction to them?”
“No, I don’t. But if you look hard enough, you’ll findmymonster. And it’s pissed off.” I grab his hand to shove it away, but it doesn't budge. “I’m not here for your amusement. Now get the hell out of my room. Guard!” A yell scrapes out in a rasp. “Get this asshole out of here!”
In a flash of white wrapped muscle, large hands clamp my shoulders and I’m driven backward until my spine crashes into the wall. Only the door doesn't burst open, and Pup doesn't barge in to save me.
7
SINÉAD
I’m in the worst possible trouble.
His morals are ash-burned fragments left over from wrong decisions. Yet he’s the one man challenging my restraint.
