Page 34 of The Captive and the First Blood Game
“All this time…”
Their eyes met. “He never…”
Her body pulsed at his nearness. No matter that she was still uncertain about everything. Having the sole attention of Beckham Anderson was like being a mouse caught in a trap. And yet her mind went blank at his touch. The lacy panties stood no chance.
“Your smell…” His voice was indulgent.
Her body only ached more, bowing toward him, her insides taut like a nocked arrow.
“Becks,” she breathed.
“…is different,” he finished.
Her eyes locked on his. “Different?”
“If there was no bite, then he’s been giving you an injection?”
She nodded mutely.
Beckham growled low. “Then he has owned you.”
“No one owns me,” she said defiantly.
“The bite is possession,” he told her. “The saliva in the injection says just as much: that you are his. That you belong to him.”
“I belong to no one. Least of all William Harrington.”
His eyes searched out the meaning in her words. She wanted to tell him everything that had happened. Lay her soul bare. But it was so fresh, and there was this gap between them. She’d thought they had finally torn it down, but the wall was back, bigger and taller than ever. She had broken it down once, but it seemed impossible now.
Whatever he saw in her gaze made him shift forward. His lips landed on her forehead, and she shivered from head to toe. This was what she wanted. This man. Even if this wasn’t the reunion she had wanted. But it just wasn’t enough. She lifted her hands, and instead of twining them in his suit coat, she pushed him backward. It didn’t budge him more than an inch, but it was enough.
Any warmth in his eyes shuttered and dissipated.
“I can’t do this again. I spent eight weeks in hell wanting nothing more than to escape, to be rescued. For you to storm into the room and carry me out of this nightmare. I dreamed of our reunion, Beckham, and it wasn’t this,” she said, her voice hollow. “I won’t…no, I can’t live in a world where Penelope stands between us again.”
Beckham took a step backward. “She’s… It’s complicated.”
“Then you should go.”
“Go,” he growled at the dismissal.
“Come back when you can talk to me like you once did. When we don’t have to play games. Because I’m through with the games.”
“Fine.”
She watched as he moved toward her closet. She followed him, wondering what he was doing. Then she saw it: a doorknob. He had come in through a secret doorway in her closet. Of course he wouldn’t want anyone to see him.
His hand rested on the doorknob. “Sydney will want to see you. You’re important to the organization. This was where you should have been all along. Not with me.”
Then he strode out of the bedroom and became a shadow, disappearing into the darkness as the door closed behind him.
She couldn’t believe that after all this time and everything she had dreamed about this day, he was going to walk out…walk away from her. No. She couldn’t have that. She didn’t want him to walk away. She wanted to make things right.
Her heart thudded as she rushed toward the door, back toward Beckham. She could right these wrongs. They could make this work.
She closed her hand over the doorknob, ready to rush after him—but as she twisted it, there was no give. It was locked from the outside. A way for Beckham to get in but not for her to get out.
Reyna’s knees hit the carpeted floor as her heart cracked open wide. What had they done? This wasn’t how any of it was supposed to happen. She wanted a do-over. She’d stood her ground and refused to give in to him when he’d evaded all her questions. She’d made him go even though she’d wanted nothing more than for him to stay.
