I despise him.
He walks to the bed and pulls the covers back, exposing my naked form to his eyes. My body has never been my own so if he’s expecting me to try and hide, he’ll be disappointed. Yet I see no disappointment on his face. I see nothing, actually. Not even appreciation. His expression is blank, and that strips me of the little power I have in my life. My body is my only weapon, and he seems immune to it.
Sliding in smoothly, he lies on his back. There’s a foot between us, but it feels like just a millimeter. I’m on fire. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand the insane, uncontrollable, mysterious pull. Why? I should be overjoyed that some feelings have been uncovered. Overjoyed that I’m apparently not completely emotionally dead. But all these reactions are for a man I should not be reacting to. The strange mixture of wariness and desire is playing havoc with my mind.
I flip myself onto my side, my back to him, staring ahead at the wall. And then there’s suddenly no wall to look at. Just darkness. He’s turned off the lights.
I’m so tense, there’s not a hope in hell of me getting any sleep. Not when he’s in bed with me. How long will I have to be here? How long before I’m taken back to where I belong? How long until Nox finds me?
The mattress beneath me dips, and my body rolls with it. He’s moving, and I hold my breath, waiting for . . . what?
Will he touch me? Climb on top of me? Force me? And will I fight him if he does?
His bare foot brushes mine. It’s just a foot, but his skin on mine isn’t a simple touch. It’s an inferno, raging and screaming. My tense body swiftly shifts into brittle territory. I’m going to break. He slides his foot across mine, and no matter how desperate I am to whip mine away, I don’t. I’m not sure whether it’s that thing ingrained into me to do what’s expected of me, or the fact that I like his skin on mine. I like the inferno. I like the burn. Those thoughts have me pulling away before I can stop myself, my mind in meltdown. Of all the people on this planet I could chose to defy or be attracted to, Danny Black should be the last on the list. Yet my natural instinct to comply is shifting. It also might save my life. As long as Black doesn’t kill me first.
“You don’t like me touching you?” His voice is soft yet hard, and it has me clenching my eyes and burying my face in the pillow.
Yes. I hate it because I love it.
“No.”
“Liar,” he claims, not for the first time. “So if I put my hand here.” His palm lands on my naked hip, and I squeeze my eyes closed into the pillow, battling my way through the torture. “You don’t like it?”
“Get your hands off me,” I spit, and he does. It surprises me.
“Remember I told you that you reminded me of someone?” His question, which is soft and quiet, has my anger shrinking and my body slowly turning over to face him. I can see him, not clearly, but he’s looking at me, his eyes shining in the darkness. “Yes.”
“That person was saved.” Without warning, he moves, pushing me to my back and spreading his body all over mine. He doesn’t pin me down, simply lays his palms over my arms that are above my head. The weight of him is intimidating and exhilarating all at once. Every naked piece of him is touching me. My body isn’t the only thing to go up in smoke. So does my mind. “You haven’t been saved,” he whispers, his nose skimming mine. “Yet,” he adds, knocking me further off balance with a grind of his hips. “What’s your name, baby?”
“Rose.” I deliver my answer on a mere whisper, and I sense more than see his smile.
“Get some sleep, Rose.” He dips and kisses the corner of my mouth. “You’re going to need some energy to keep resisting me.”
And then he’s off my body.
And I’m missing the feel of his sinful weight immediately.
Chapter 7
DANNY
* * *
You haven’t been saved. Yet.
And what? I’m going to save her? I shake my head to myself as I lie in bed next to her, watching her. She’s curled up on her side, as far away from me as she can get, her back to me. One poke in her shoulder would have her tumbling out of bed.
The dark waves of her hair fan the stark white pillow; her hair tie is loose and has nearly worked its way to the end. I reach forward without thought and pull it free. I see her shoulders rise, just a fraction, and I smile to myself. She’s awake but pretending not to be. The kid in me that never really existed appears from nowhere, showing up to the party years too late. I take the sheet that’s pulled up under her arms and peel it down her body, slowly, softly, exposing the full length of her spine. The morning light is dusky through the blinds, hazy and slight, but I still see the nasty bruise. And my morning mind is a little foggy, but I still feel rage fuzzing my head. The black mass stretches from one side of her back to the other, just above two cute dimples that sit a fraction above her arse. It’s not old, not yellowed or purple. It’s solid black. Fresh.