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‘Liar. Furthermore, I’m not one of your fans or bits of fluff, so do me a favour and keep those blues above neck level. If you’re trying to intimidate me you’ll have to do a better job than feigning interest and eying me up.’
‘But it’s so much fun watching you prickle.’
‘Some of us have a deeper meaning in life than having fun, and fickle playboys don’t bring out the best in me.’
‘Oh, I’m not so sure about that.’
Fired up, she was a whole lot of beautiful. Which he supposed was why he’d always tumbled into the thrust and parry of verbal swords with her. Sparks truly did fly when he was duelling with Miss Scott.
Now she was breathing in short, aggravated bursts, her breasts pushing against her rumpled T, and his fingers itched to climb beneath the hem. She’d be sooo lusciously soft, one hundred per cent organic and berry-like delicious against his tongue as he sucked her nipple between his lips...
Heat scrambled up his legs, heading straight for his groin... Until she crossed her arms over her chest, jerking his attention to the red blotches that marred her delicate wrist.
‘What are those marks?’ Closing the gap, he leaned in for a better look. ‘What is that?’
‘That is a gift from your security detail, keeping the hordes at bay.’
Hordes at bay? ‘Let me see.’
‘No!’ Tucking her hands tighter into the creases of her underarms, she regarded him as if he were ten kinds of crazy.
‘Come on. Stop being a girl. It doesn’t suit you.’
‘You know, that’s the first truth you’ve uttered since I got here.’
As he gently tugged her hand free his knuckles brushed over her soft breast. Holy... More heat raced south, pleasure and pain moving through him at full throttle.
Oh, man, the last thing he needed was his first hard-on in almost a year to be for this woman. It was an inconceivable prospect that was swiftly overtaken by the dark bruising marring her wrist, and his insides shook with anger as he remembered the sight and sensation of torn wrists, shredded skin, blood dripping from shackles.
‘Finn?’ she breathed. ‘What are you...?’
With deliberate and infinite care he brushed the backs of his fingers down one side of her forearm and up the other. ‘I...’ I’m sorry he hurt you. I’ll make him pay. I swear it.
‘Finn?’
Tilting her head, she frowned. Cutely. The action softened the often harsh yet no less cataclysmic impact of her beauty.
Seraphina Scott wasn’t pretty in the normal sense of the word. She was no delicate English rose. No, no. She was a wild flower. Tempestuous and striking. Made in technicolour. Hardy, tough. Weathering every storm, only to survive more beautiful than ever before.
And she was clearly waiting for him to expand. Trying to work him out.
Such a small thing, that softening. It made her appear vulnerable. From nowhere more words sped through his brain. I’m sorry...I’m sorry. So very sorry I took Tom away from you. I would do anything. Anything to bring him back.
How he wished he could tell everyone the truth. Let the world know what had truly gone down in Singapore. But with an ongoing investigation and a sense that he’d meet his adversary again one day it was impossible. Business hadn’t been settled. Too many men roamed free. So if there was to be a next time he was going in alone.
As if she knew the direction of his thoughts, she shaped her lips for speech—no doubt to ask more questions he would never answer, couldn’t even bear to hear. Tension throbbed like a living force, so heavy he could taste it, feel the weight of it pressing on his shoulders.
What was it going to take for him to get rid of her? He didn’t want Serena near him. Hell, he felt dangerous at the best of times. Around her he felt positively deadly. The need to charge upstairs and throttle the security guy’s neck roiled inside him, toxic and deadly, and surely he had enough blood on his hands.
Speaking of hands... For some reason he couldn’t let hers go. She was trembling. It couldn’t possibly be him. Finn required a large hit of G-force to feel moved.
Holding her wrist in the cradle of his palm, he reached up with his other hand to touch the wild mass of her hair. Hair the deepest darkest red, reminding him of ripe black cherries.
How long had he resisted the temptation of her? It felt like a thousand years.
Almost there and her eyes caught the movement, flared before she jerked backwards.
‘Finn. Let go of me. Right now.’
Distantly he heard the words, the quiver in her command, and knew they held no heat. Control slipped from his grasp and he fingered the stray lock tumbling over her shoulder.
Pure silk. Hot enough to singe. Fire burning on a dangerous scale.
