Three days have passed since Liam pulled my ass from the fire. I’m grateful, but he’ll never hear me say it.

I have yet to leave the guestroom on the opposite side of the house from the master. Holing myself up and refusing to speak might be juvenile of me, but what’s the alternative? Sauntering out naked to make the bastard breakfast?

Not a chance. As far as I’m concerned, those days are done and buried. The only thing Liam Rourke will receive from now on is my resentment.

At 9 a.m. exactly, the bedroom door opens. I don’t turn from the window where I’m watching a hired gardener mow the grass.

I hear him move across the room and put a plate and mug on the nightstand. When his footsteps don’t recede, I stiffen.

“I had no idea you were this stubborn.”

My answer is a glare over my shoulder. I shouldn’t have looked at all—Liam is shirtless, wearing gray cotton pants that I know are soft as butter. They’re also thin, and do little to conceal his substantial endowment. I can’t seem to tear my eyes away. Not until I see him begin to swell and harden.

“Ah,” he says on a sigh. “I thought I’d lost you completely. But you’re still in there. Still mine.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I retort. “The only thing I miss about you is your cock.”

Liam laughs. “Not as much as he misses you.”

Aggravated at myself for breaking my silence, I turn back to the window. The gardener is gone, the lawn below cropped and iridescent in the sunlight.

When he speaks again, his voice is soft, threaded with rare emotion. Regret, maybe. If I thought him capable of it.

“When I came to your work that day, I came to seduce you. I won’t deny it. What I didn’t expect was how attracted I’d be to you.”

I can’t repress a flinch. “Sorry, no tan or fake tits here.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” His footsteps cross the room, stopping somewhere behind me. “You weren’t as interesting as you looked—you were more interesting. I’ve often wondered if it wasn’t me that found you but the other way around.”

Romantic words. Too bad they’re lies.

He’s close now. Too close. I can feel the heat of him on my back, can smell his intoxicating skin. Unwanted desire blooms in my breasts and between my legs.

“I recognized the war inside you,” he murmurs. “The struggle between innocence and depravity, between aggression and submission. Sweet Jesus, it was impossible to resist. And when I tasted you for the first time, I was lost.”

Turning, I look into his stormy eyes. “How are you planning to finish this flowery little speech, Liam? With something even more trite, like I’m the first woman to reach your damaged heart? Spare me the bullshit. Like you said, this isn’t the fucking mov—”

His mouth slams onto mine, swallowing the rest of my words. Fingers on my jaw force my lips to part and his tongue invades. I bite down hard.

He reels back, releasing me with a curse. My freedom, however, is short-lived. I try to dart past him but his arm snakes out, catching me in the stomach. Breath whooshes out of me. I’m airborne, spinning, until I land facedown on the edge of the bed.

I scream in abject fury, bucking against him as he yanks my pajama pants and underwear to my knees. My hands are pulled behind my back, trapped in one of his.

“Are you going to rape me, Liam?” I yell belligerently. “Are you?”

“Of course not,” he snaps. “I’m merely proving a point.”

Fingertips land on my tailbone, swirling up and down, teasing the swell of my ass. I renew my efforts to escape, but it’s no use. I’m drowning, beyond saving, my body betraying me further with each second that passes. With every millimeter those fingers move south. An agonized moan escapes me. My hips jerk up, seeking him.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he says softly, reverently. “You’re absolutely perfect. And even though you lie to yourself and to me, spewing hateful words you don’t mean, we both know the truth. This isn’t about what my hands and cock can do. This is about us.”

“I hate you,” I whisper.

“Maybe a little. I did conceal the truth from you, and loyalty runs strong in your lineage. I’m sure you can’t help but feel angry and betrayed. But you also can’t help this.”

His fingers slip between my thighs. A heavy sigh whispers across my skin. “See?” he murmurs. “Made for me.”

He’s merciless with those fingers.

And then he’s merciful.

I come on his hand, crying out my love, my desire, my fear and confusion.

After, his knee hits the bed and he leans down beside me. Panting, mindless, I watch him lick me slowly from his fingers. The eroticism triggers aftershocks in my womb.

Those blue eyes flare with heat. “Mine,” he whispers, and gives me a gentle kiss on my cheek. When he draws back, his smile is radiant. “Get dressed, dove. I’m taking you to meet your sister.”