When I stand her before the kitchen counter, I see the surprise in her lovely hazel eyes. Something in me wants to keep her guessing. The sparkle in her eyes that screams of danger and flame stirs something in me I can’t quantify or justify.

Through great self-control, I grab her hips and lift her onto the counter. When her bottom hits the cool surface she inhales a breath that’s all shock and pleasure. I see the spasm of her pupils and revel in her delight.

Gripping the edge of the counter in a concentrated effort to keep my hands to myself, I lean in toward her. Time to get down to business.

“So what’s your name?” I ask, needing to know who she is. I want to put a name to the images I have of her in my mind.

She shivers and I see her nipples harden under her shirt. Her eyes narrow a tiny bit in pleasure and she studies me as if she’s thinking about what she’d like me to do to her.

“Jane.” The word sticks in her throat and I feel my cock pulse at the sound of it. Her voice is incredible, so soft and delicate, slightly raspy and beautiful.

I study her face, loving the curve of her cheeks to her chin, the gentle flair of her jaw line, how the escaped tendrils of her hair are framing her face and neck. She’s all contrasts, pale skin, dark hair, startling green and honey brown eyes.

There’s a loud knock at her door next door and her whole body jerks taut in unmistakable terror. I see the flash of panic in her eyes and wonder what’s happening. What is developing? Was she not here alone? The room had had one person’s things. When I’d scanned the room I’d noticed one toothbrush, women’s clothes, and girl’s shoes.

Though, I guess that’s not actually a way to tell anymore with men wearing women’s pants as a fashion choice. I’ll never understand it, but it’s none of my business.

“Jane?” The guy shouts, and her eyes close tightly as if she can wish him away.

“Open the door!” The guy shouts, his voice furious.

I watch her, wondering what this new development means. She opens her eyes and leans closer to me, whether or not she means to I don’t know, but she seems to be leaning on me for comfort.

It bothers me that she’s less scared of me than she is of this new guy. Why? What does he do to her that would make her afraid of him?

Why do I suddenly feel so protective of this girl I’ve had less than kind intentions toward? I’d resigned myself to hurting her should I need to, but the thought of someone else hurting her infuriates me to the point it’s hard to see straight.

I don’t know what this asshole did to make her cower like this, but I’d like to choke him. And not the same way I was threatening to choke her back at her place. Fuck if that didn’t make her hot. And not just her, I’m still suffering a nearly painful erection.

All of that aside, the last thing I need is more attention on this train wreck of a situation. If this guy makes a stink, that might bring cops. Cops bring a whole host of questions and boys in blue that I don’t want to have to answer to. About anything.

As it is, I still have no idea what Jane here knows about Cami. Does she know I coerced her into coming home with me? That I didn’t give her a choice but to come talk to me? That I was intimidating her, threatening her, holding her hostage until she gave me the information I needed?

No, I can’t risk Jane talking to the police.

Who knows what she might tell them, what dirt she might have gathered with her ear to the wall in the room next door.

As the guy pounds on the door again, I feel fury surging through my veins.

“Who is he?” I ask, my voice tight with anger. She looks up at me, shock in her eyes as her full lips open a tiny bit.

“Um, well,” she whispers as the guy continues banging on the door and shouting next door, “He’s my boyfriend.”

I back off and lean against the opposite counter while crossing my arms. She stammers at me. “I mean, ex-boyfriend. Well, I didn’t actually break up with him. I just, uh… ditched him.” She’s looking at me like I’ve got to hate her and think she’s a piece of shit.

But I don’t give a fuck. I know guys who don’t take no for an answer. I think she should own up, put on her big girl panties and tell him it’s over rather than try to get around it. Not talking to him might make him eventually get the hint, but it’s a shitty way to do things.

Not that I have any place judging anyone’s way of living their life. It’s not like I’m some shining fucking example of an incredible, upstanding citizen. But still, something in the way she closes up like a flower at the end of the night leaves me certain there’s more to this situation.

There’s always more to the story. Everyone has their reasons for the things they do. What hers are, I can only imagine, but I have to accept they’re valid in her mind. Even if I don’t agree with them exactly.

“I need him gone,” I tell her. Her eyes widen, but she’s not reading the total wrong idea in my words. To make sure she knows what I mean, I follow it up with, “How do I get rid of him?” What better way to really find out how she feels about this guy than to offer to kill him?