Crown of Lies

The way he watched me, with a languor simmering with bitterness, said if I gave into such stupidity and started something, he’d be the one to end it with me slammed against the wall and his hands up my skirt.

I didn’t like him.

I most certainly didn’t want him.

At all.

He chuckled softly. “Now who’s the liar, Ms. Charlston?” He sniffed the air, almost as if he could drag my perfume and truth into his lungs. “You did think about me and you’re thinking about what we could do right now.” He lowered his chin, watching me from shadowed eyes. “Aren’t you?”

I clenched my teeth and didn’t reply. A haughty sniff would have to do because I didn’t trust myself not to curse him to the underworld and call for security.

I never suffered passion as sick as this. Never wanted to cause physical harm to someone I’d only just met.

He was all wrong.

He made my good turn bad.

Leave.

Right now.

With a glare, I spun around and stalked toward the walkway and freedom.

Only, there he was again, darting around me and planting himself in my trajectory. Wedging his hands in his gray slack pockets, he smirked. “Want to know my answers to those three questions?”

His voice rippled over my mind but his posture turned a simple question into a labyrinth of disbelief. Something about the way he moved—the way his hands sought the sanctuary of his pockets.

It was familiar.

He tore apart my wondering by leaning close, plucking the energy lines still humming between us. “Do you want to know?”

“No.”

“Too bad.” He had the gall to walk forward, forcing me to either accept his closeness or step back.

I didn’t want him touching me, so I backed up.

And then another step.

And another.

Back and back he forced me, all while our eyes never unlocked and no physical touch ensued. He did touch me, though. His gaze set fire to my skin with every second he stared. I cursed the way my stomach clenched as my spine pressed against a cabinet holding t-shirts in every color for any occasion.

He smiled coldly. “Seems you aren’t opposed to doing what you’re told, after all.”

“What?” I squeezed Sage so hard, she sharpened her claws on my wrist.

“I wanted you against a flat hard surface and what do you know...you’re against one.”

My mouth went dry as his hand came up, looping around the silver pole of the cabinet stand. He didn’t hem me in, but he did lean forward until most of his weight pivoted on his arm, his body hovering so damn close.

He made me prickly as a cactus, hot as a rainforest.

And wet.

I couldn’t remember the last time someone had puppeteered my body in such a way.

Well, yes I can remember.

But at the same time, I didn’t want to. Not while I was affected by a man so totally different to that chocolate kisser in my past. It was ridiculous but I felt like I cheated on him—trampling over my oath to help him, ripping up the debt I had to find and save him.

I hadn’t lived up to my promise and every second I spent licking my lips, drunk on cheap chemistry, I cheapened what’d happened between us.

The same rush of pleasure I wanted Nameless to take now begged for a new master.

And I don’t even like this man.

I didn’t like myself.

But it didn’t matter because my heart understood he was an egotistical asshole and my body deemed him acceptable enough to scratch my lust-itch regardless.

His gaze dropped to my mouth. His voice was soft, coaxing. “One, I did think about you. A lot more than I should probably admit. I thought about forcing you to accept my offer, so at least I could get you behind closed doors. And I most certainly thought about what we could do together.”

His head erased the distance, his minty breath slipping past my lips and somehow taking up residence in my lungs, suffocating me. “I thought about it in the shower, in bed, fuck, even in my office.” His head came down. His nose nuzzled the shell of my ear, disrupting the crystal earring so it tinkled softly.

His other hand came up, a single finger unfurling and tracing an electrical cord down my arm, slipping to my side and boldly pressing against my waist to my hipbone. “You’re a stunning woman, Elle Charlston, and your father was right. Whatever man you end up with is a lucky fucking bastard, but I don’t think anyone stands a chance.”

He looked into my gaze with cold, pitying look. “You have a prison gate around yourself that you’re too afraid to unlock and be free.”

I hated that he understood me when he had no right.

I despised the way he’d used the word free when I myself thought that phrase far too often.

And I loathed that his body heat stung mine with sensation and my nipples tightened to pain.

I had no resolution to push him away.

His fingertip suddenly left my hipbone and landed on Sage’s head. “It’s funny that you’re carrying your pussy around. Is that an invitation in some strange way?”

I spluttered. “Get your hand off my cat.”

He immediately held it up in surrender before once again tracing a fingertip from my shoulder to my wrist.

It took every ounce of training and discipline not to shudder or puddle to the floor. How long had it been since someone had petted me? How long since I’d been touched other than a quick fatherly hug or pat well done?

Never.

That’s how long.

Because even Nameless had never stroked me. He’d grabbed me, kissed me, fondled me, but never stroked.