“Getting ready.” She reached around behind her back and unclipped her bra strap, flinging it onto the bed. Her fingers hooked beneath her panties and peeled them off her hips, kicking them off her feet and across the room.
If this was the war she wanted, she’d get it. I’d faced off with more dangers than her. Yet even as I told myself this, I was riddled with doubt. Anya had a way of breaking down my defenses and chipping away at my desire to end her world.
She stood naked yet confident, still defiant, a nymph-like enchantress who captured my focus.
A shock of feeling in my gut, a roiling desire. “Meet me downstairs.”
“Make me.”
The air was thick with doubt, that suffocating heat from outside somehow finding its way inside. The sound of the fan the only noise piercing the silence that fell between us.
Whether it was her disobedience that spurred me on or my need to get her covered up, I headed over to the set of drawers. Resting my hand on a pair of matching silk underwear and pulling them out.
Turning to face her again, I threw them at her.
She caught them.
Then let the underwear slip from her hand to the ground.
I tried not to look at her round plump breasts or the way her nipples beaded—tried to keep my gaze on hers instead off loweirng it to what was hidden beneath.
She was a shocking beauty. With porcelain skin.
The fucking universe was trying trap me.
The subtle sway of her hips where she rested her hands was too much. She had no idea what she did to me.
Her naïveté struck a nerve.
The temptation to throw her onto the bed and bury my dick inside her was enough to burn me up from the inside out.
No. I couldn’t do that.
Despite what her father had done to me and my family. I wouldn’t sink to that level.
Stepping forward, I showed Anya her nakedness wouldn’t dissuade me.
Pressing my nose to her forehead and with a gravelly voice saying, “How much do you love Mardi Gras?”
With her body trembling, she responded like a deer caught in the headlights, stunned by my show of interest, her breathing becoming faster.
“I used to love it.”
“You still can.”
“Fuck you.”
Running my thumb along her bare arm, I coaxed her further. “Be a good girl and get dressed.”
“No.”
She tipped her chin, a defiant glare carrying her desire straight to my dick. And she was so fucking naked, so fucking vulnerable, it hardened. Our bodies were only inches apart.
“I used to like it,” she whispered.
My cock twitched in my pants. “What?”
“Mardi Gras.”
“What did you love about it?”
She tipped her chin higher. “Everyone comes together to celebrate life.”
“We can do that.”
“I got to help decorate Mom’s float.” Sorrow welled in her eyes. “It was the only time she showed any interest in me.”
She couldn’t see my response. The way I closed my palms and clenched them all while sending a silent curse her mother’s way.
Soon, she would see her daughter and know that I still had her.
Anya’s hand was at my waist. She’d scrunched my shirt there and was holding onto it. That and her nakedness left Anya open to me.
Like a book wanting and needing to be read.
Needing to be understood.
This show of weakness sent a hum of pleasure through me.
This wasn’t good.
I couldn’t allow this woman into my world.
She was a Glassman, and I could never forget that fact.
Anya would never know the intel my team had gathered before I stole her away. It had stated her parents were hardly ever at home. That they were seen coming and going to that house in the Garden District and that their activity was highly suspicious. It was as though they had two lives. One in NOLA and another elsewhere. The question was, why?
“Mardi Gras is all I had to look forward to,” Anya admitted softly.
My cruel intentions for later this evening bubbled beneath the surface.
The day was planned out to the last detail. All that was needed was Anya’s compliance. Her putting on that dress and masquerade mask and being presented as a lamb to the slaughter.
“Get dressed now,” I made it an order.
Her lips pouted as she again raised her sights and settled her focus on my lips. A seductive allure as though willing me to kiss her.
“Obey.” Even as those words left my lips, I felt her nipples beading against my chest and her breathing becoming rapid, her unexpected response hypnotic.
“Tell me what you want from me,” she whispered.
“This.”
She swallowed hard. “This?”
I needed to get inside her thoughts. See her clearly so that manipulating her became second nature. Her compliance was essential.
Falling for her wasn’t possible.
I’d rather cut out my own heart.
She dragged her teeth along her bottom lip. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“And miss your chance to escape like you did at Café Du Monde?”