Page 18 of Fate Book

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“Know what?” he growled.

“Who are you?”

His fists clenched into tight little balls. “I told you, stop asking.”

I held out my palms. “I don’t know what’s happened or what I’ve done to you—I mean, yes, I stole your photo—and I’m sorry—but other than that, I have no clue what this is all about. Please, just tell me.”

He marched over and glared down before placing both hands on the sides of my face. The kinder, gentler Santiago I’d seen only moments ago was nowhere to be found. “Do you want your mother to get hurt, Dakota? Do you?” He pulled back but kept a firm grip on my face. “Because if you do, keep asking questions you know I won’t answer. Keep resisting.”

I stared at his face and saw something in the depths of those dark, sultry eyes. A sort of sadness or, perhaps, fear.

“Do you want someone to die, Dakota?” he whispered coldly.

My body instantly reacted to his brutal words, but my mind screeched to a halt. He had made it sound like he would do the hurting, but now I knew that just couldn’t be right. Could it? So did that mean someone else wanted to hurt me and my mother?

“Answer me,” he said.

I shook my head no.

“Then, who am I?”

“My boyfriend,” I croaked.

“Very good.” He released his grip. “And you will stop asking questions?”

I couldn’t promise that so I didn’t respond.

His eyes narrowed just a bit. “Dakota,” he blew out a tension-filled breath, and I could’ve sworn I saw steam. “Is what I’m asking you to do so terrible? Is it so hard to imagine me being your boyfriend—a guy who will make sure nothing bad ever happens to you again? Who will do everything possible to make sure you live a long, happy life?” He inclined his head and whispered in my ear. “Is it so hard to pretend that you’re mine?”

The narrow space of air between us filled with a strange tension. If I didn’t know any better, I would say it was sexual. My stomach fluttered and breasts began to tingle. My heart felt like it might beat its way out of my chest. I suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about his full lips. What would he taste like? I wondered.

Crap? What’s wrong with me? My mind caught up with my very gullible body, realizing that he had switched tactics on me. Intimidation no longer did the trick so now he was using my obvious sexual attraction to him to kowtow me. The sad part was, it almost worked, and that was the irony of the situation. He scared me. And the more frightened I felt, the more drawn to him I became. It was as if he could sense it, too, because he had no problem tuning right in and using his body and voice to make me feel like he really wanted me.

Idiot. He’s playing you.

“Are you going to hurt me or my mother?”

“I would die for either one of you. In a heartbeat. ”

That wasn’t the answer I expected. Why would he say something so morbid and dramatic? “How am I supposed to believe a word you say when you keep threatening us?”

He shook his head. “You don’t need to believe my words, just look at my actions.”

His actions said I should be very, very afraid of him. He was lethal, sexy, and a complete enigma. But something in my gut made me want to believe him. Perhaps it was that tormented look in his eyes. I just didn’t know.

“Can you at least tell me something about yourself? Do you have more family? Where do they live? Do you have a brother, dog, fish? Tell me anything so I know you’re real.”

He stared for a sobering moment, his beautiful brown eyes as cold as a slab of granite. “I like camping.”

“What?”

“You know, camping. Trees. Mountains. Cooking over a fire.”

This was not the sort of personal information I’d meant. “Does your version of camping involve a gun and killing something?”

He shrugged his brows. “A man’s gotta eat.”

“Figures.”

“You asked for something personal. I gave it.” He crossed his thick, muscular arms over his chest.

“Yes, you did.”

“Now you’ll stop asking questions?” he said.

I hung my head, thinking the worst of my faculties. A small part of me wanted to play nice and stop resisting the situation. “I’m crazy. I have to be.”

He sat next to me on the bed and placed his hand on my leg. “You are not crazy,” he grumbled. “There is a logical explanation for everything.”

I looked into his eyes and was hit with a rush of adrenaline. Simply sitting so close, sharing his space, and gazing into his eyes felt dangerous. And I couldn’t deny it sucked me in. I imagined it was how wolves felt about their alphas. They were attracted to the alphas’ savage recklessness—their power, their innate ability to do as they pleased without fear of consequence. A part of me wanted to follow.


Tags: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff Romance