The Darkest Temptation (Made 3)

I tensed at the subtle threat toward Ivan.

“No one can save you from me.” His eyes shone indifference laced with a dark edge. “Not even God.” The words condensed the air, grasping each heartbeat with an accented threat.

His gaze slid down my body, from my loose blonde curls, to my T-shirt, to my bare legs. The mere touch of his stare scorched hot and cold, and the memory of his hand between my legs came to life.

I’d like to believe a calloused thumb would draw a reaction from any woman’s body regardless of the circumstances. Although, my skin stretched taut as his words returned about my mother being sadistic and the fact Ronan could have brought me to release even in that twisted situation. He could have humiliated me in front of those men, in front of a cousin I never even knew existed, but he didn’t. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the reason why.

With the heavy sensation of his perusal flaring an uneasy heat in my veins, I managed to say, “Goodness always prevails in the end.”

Apparently, he found the idea amusing. He leaned back in his chair and watched me through eyes so dark and lazy they must have been formed by smoke pouring from a cauldron.

“What did you do to my cousin?” I asked.

“I let him crawl back to your papa.”

My expression was disbelieving. “Why?”

“Luck,” he said simply.

“You do all your business deals based on luck?”

“Some.” He glanced at the room, relishing in the sight of his fortress of evil. “A little bit of luck got me here, you know.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘narcissism.’”

A hint of humor sparkled in his eyes. “That too.”

I refused to say the word “luck” again

because if anyone deserved to have a piano fall on their head while they walked down Wall Street, it was this man. So, I improvised with sarcasm.

“I guess you got really narcissistic when I stumbled into your lair, didn’t you?”

“Mmm,” he mumbled roughly, his stare holding mine. “I guess I did.”

One single confused blink from Ronan would put the world to rights again. It would reassure me we were operating on two different wavelengths: good and evil. But of course the bastard understood me.

His gaze settled on the small crack in the window, the one I created by throwing the chair he sat on at the glass yesterday in a desperate attempt for oxygen. Yulia had set my dinner tray down and fled the room with a tattling look in her eye.

“I hear you don’t like your room.”

“The accommodations could be better.”

He smiled. “I’m sure you’ll find them preferable in my room.”

I hated his smile. Sparkling white teeth and a dignified lift of his lips. He had the smile of a handsome gentleman, and what a lie it was. Though what I hated the most was how his smile made me recall how I fell into his hands in the first place, and how he tricked my body to his side.

I swallowed. “My room’s fine.”

He chuckled at my half-assed capitulation. “Let’s not forget you had a big thing for me.”

“Let’s.”

“Your crush was cute.”

Irritation ran down my back. “As you said before, it could have been anyone else.” I lifted an indifferent shoulder and repeated his words. “Albert maybe.”

Eyes glinting with ice, his presence pulled at the seams of his black dress shirt. He was either possessive of his pets, or he’d just taken a hit to his overinflated ego.