The Heathen (Preacher Brothers 2)

But I didn’t do that. He wouldn’t want that, and my actions wouldn’t be welcome. They weren’t now.

So, I cleared them from my mind and looked down at his body. His clothes were dirty from me dragging him from the vehicle and then into my home.

I wanted to reach out to him in a purely healing, emotional way, but instead, I lifted my head and looked into his eyes. His expression was so hard and cold. He hated me, maybe wanted to kill me. And that was okay. I’d been hated my whole life by the one person who should have loved me unconditionally. And I’d reach Cullen. I’d connect with him before this was all said and done.

I needed that as much as I knew he did.

“Can I take your shirt off?” He didn’t answer, but that wasn’t any surprise. “It’s filthy, and I’m sure you’d prefer to be in something cleaner.” His shirt was dirty and torn and needed to come off. “You have clean clothes in your duffle.” Maybe I shouldn’t have reminded him I’d seen what was inside of that bag. Maybe all that would do was piss him off again.

But he didn’t respond, just tracked me with his eyes as I moved around the bed toward him.

“You’re going to have to untie me to get it off,” he hissed and bared straight, white teeth at me, pulling at the bounds once more.

I didn’t speak, just reached into the pocket of my pants and produced a pair of scissors. I still held his gun. I wanted him to know I wasn’t afraid of it or using it, even though the truth was I wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger.

“No, I don’t.” I inhaled deeply and moved a step closer, opening and closing the scissors so they made that snapping sound. I expected him to lunge at me, to bite at me like a feral animal. Instead, he just lay there, looking at me with those coal-dark eyes.

“I’m just trying to help you,” I said in a soft tone, looking directly in his eyes, not backing down or submitting. I had absolutely no doubt this man was used to getting his way in all things, that everyone submitted to him.

That no one went up against him.

I didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to be the enemy.

“I just want to help.”

For a second, he just stared at me, not moving, his body still tense. But then he slowly leaned back so he was resting against the headboard once more. He tipped his head to the side marginally and lifted a brow, as if he were trying to tell me to go ahead, that he’d behave.

I licked my lips and moved to step closer, reaching out for his shirt, gripping it, and sliding the scissors up the fabric. The sound of material rending seemed obscenely loud in the room, and as much as I wanted to keep my focus on his face, to be prepared if he tried anything, I couldn’t help but stare at the flesh that was revealed as the fabric was cut away.

I got to the collar of his shirt and could see his pulse beating rapidly at the base of his throat. When I brought the scissors down one last time, cutting away that last piece of material, I knew I should’ve taken a step back, but all I could do was stare at his abdomen, at the tattoos that covered nearly every inch of him, the muscles that were visible under the dark ink. I gripped the material, my fingers brushing against his warm skin as I parted the material.

God, this man was built like a tank.

I swallowed and started pulling the torn shirt away until he lay there, his masculine torso on clear display.

“Get a good look.”

I snapped my head up, felt my eyes widen and my cheeks heat at the fact that he’d caught me staring at him, at most likely the knowledge that he knew I was admiring all that masculinity.

He was affected though. I could tell. I noticed the subtle changes in him. His pupils were dilated, his chest rising and falling a little bit faster. His biceps flexed, as if he were still trying to pull at the bounds, not like he was trying to get free, but as if he couldn’t help himself. His voice was also deeper, huskier, not like how it had been… all aggressive to intimidate me.

It had a different pitch, a deeper tone. And because I couldn’t seem to help myself with him, around him, I had the most inappropriate response. I felt my body react. I felt a tingling settle between my thighs, felt my nipples start to harden. A flush washed over me, this heat that had perspiration settling between my breasts.