But to say he was conflicted was putting it mildly. His honor, his pride, his upbringing—all called for loyalty. Loyalty to his family, loyalty to his father who’d lived and breathed for venganza. And, yet, he knew he wasn’t being fair to Erin. He knew the Rule family wasn’t responsible for the sins of their father—or if Erin was to be believed, and he had no reason to doubt her—the sins of their grandfather, but Max had been conditioned to put la familia first.
He felt as if his foundations had been pulled from beneath his feet. He knew he had to do right by Erin, ironically, his sense of honor demanded it, but letting her go wasn’t an option so what the fuck was he supposed to do?
He admitted it now; he felt untold guilt for keeping her with him by making threats against her family. But only half an hour or so before, just the thought of allowing her to leave had screwed with him so badly that he’d found himself tying her wrist to his in an act of primitive control. He hadn’t planned on doing it; he hadn’t realized he was going to do it until it was already done.
And now, he couldn’t deny that the feel of her tied to his side was soothing to him.
His brain was telling him he had to let her go; his heart and body would never let that happen.
****
Erin woke early the next morning and found Max had vacated their suite—as he normally did. But the difference this morning was his tie from the night before was still wrapped around her wrist in a knot so tight that she knew she’d have to cut the damn thing off with scissors.
She debated what to do about it. She admitted that the sight of his tie around her wrist—clearly the actions of a dominant, territorial lover—was sending butterflies twisting through her stomach. Did he expect her to cut it off? It wasn’t a cheap tie, it was a designer label and in perfect condition. It was on her right arm; she was right-handed and there was no way she could remove it without cutting it. Did he expect her to sail downstairs and let his staff see it around her wrist in all its glory?
She couldn’t even shampoo her hair without damaging the thing. Conflicted, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Dressing hurriedly in shorts and shirt before putting her hair in a ponytail, she went downstairs, the majority of the tie wrapped around her hand in an attempt at camouflage.
She found Max in his office, a cup of coffee at his side as he studied his laptop. As she paused in the threshold of his open door, he glanced up and saw her. Keeping a neutral expression on her face, she lifted her arm and let the material unfold and drop. Standing still, she raised her eyebrows in question.
He stared straight back and raised his own eyebrows in answer.
“Max—”
“What?” he snapped, standing to his feet.
A rush of heat spread through her system as he came around from behind his desk. “I can’t get it off,” she said.
He leaned against the front of his desk in a display of nonchalance that for some reason, looked forced. “So?” he finally asked.
“So? So? So, do you want to get the knot out or do you want me to take scissors to it?”
Slowly, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked in the direction of the tie, a hint of red slashing across his cheekbones.
When he refrained from answering, she threw her hands up in frustration and swirled around, ready to leave. “Fine—I’ll get the scissors.”
He was on her in a heartbeat.
One masculine hand snagged the end of the tie, holding her in place, as the other hand slammed and locked the door, sealing her inside with him. He spun her around in a dizzying display of speed, dragging her to the oversized couch. Pushing her down so she was lying full length on her back, he came down on top of her. One hand sank into her hair as the other nailed her hand that contained the tie above her head.
Staring into her eyes, he began twisting the cloth around his own hand, fisting it tightly until the back of his hand was against her wrist—she could feel the pull of the material on her skin. His gaze narrowed as he bit out, “Leave it.”
She sucked in a breath. “Leave it? Are you crazy? Everyone will think we’re playing sex games or something.”
“It’s not a game and trust me, I don’t give a fuck what anybody thinks.”
“Max,” she tried to soothe, “This is silly. Please, just untie it.”
“I like the look of it—you’d have left me in the middle of the night without it.”