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He can shove that delicious, earthy aroma up his ass.
As I pass the rear of the main house, my scalp crawls. I feel something in my periphery, something that shouldn’t be there.
My breath catches, and a jagged lump hardens in my throat. It takes me a second to register that this feeling along my skin is the sensation of being watched.
I halt abruptly, causing Kody to crash into me.
His hands grip my shoulders, steadying us both. “What the—?”
I’m not listening, my gaze sweeping over the sprawling, towering expanse of the estate. Balconies, alcoves, windows…
There. My eyes lock on an upstairs window. One of the guest bedrooms.
The sun outside glares against it, casting the interior in shadows. But someone is there. I can’t make out any features, just the unsettling outline of a man staring back at me, still as a ghost.
The birds’ songs fade, replaced by an eerie silence and the pounding blood in my ears.
Who is that? My mind races. Oliver? A security guard? But why would they be upstairs? And why are they just standing there, staring at me?
“Look at me.” Kody grabs my face, forcing my gaze to his. His eyes, dark and intense, search mine. “It’s my job to protect you.”
I yank free with a grunt, whipping my head back to the window.
The shadowed shape is gone.
A chill skitters through me.
Did I imagine it?
No, it was real. And it makes my anger burn hotter.
Turning on my heel, I charge toward the guest house. But I glance back a few times, unable to shake the feeling that something is watching and waiting.
By the time I reach the door, I’m so worked up that I have to punch the security code several times before it opens.
Three angry strides into the sitting room, I whirl on him.
“What were you thinking?” I throw my hands up, voice shaking. “You can’t just attack people like that!”
“I can, and I will. No one touches you.” He prowls toward me, flexing his hands.
I stumble back. “He’s my therapist, you caveman. He’s trying to help me.”
“By helping himself into your pants?”
My airway catches fire, and I see red. “How dare you!”
“Oh, I dare.” His whole body bends into me, swallowing the space between us with snarling intimacy. “Is he married?”
“Fuck you. You don’t get to—”
He shuts me up with his mouth on mine and his hand collaring my throat.
I whimper into his possessive kiss, uselessly pushing against his chest.
The instant his hot tongue unfurls against mine, he wins. He steals the oxygen from the room, crashes over my anger, and shatters my knees into glass.
For a stupidly weak moment, I forget why I’m mad. There’s only the pleasure of his lips, the warmth of his hands on my throat, and lower, below his belt, the hard, beastly stab of his need.
