I feel her hand tense in mine as she realizes her mistake. Is she really the best the feds could send? Something about this doesn’t add up, she’s not cut out for undercover work. Not at all. She could get herself killed. How dare Jackson send her so unprepared into the lion’s den?
“Artemis,” I say, wanting her to feel safe here. I don’t even know why, but I want her to see this place as somewhere she can come to relax. To be herself. “She died.”
“Oh God. I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
I shake my head as I lead her to the front door, as Daniel climbs back into the car and pulls it around the side of the house. “It was a long time ago now. But I still think about her.” I consider for a moment, then as I lead her inside, I add, “There was a man who wanted to hurt my father. Since he couldn’t touch him, he came after Artemis instead.”
“He did—? He hurt an innocent girl to get at your father?”
As the lights come on automatically in the entrance lobby, she turns her face up to look into mine, a look of incredulity over her features. So she didn’t know. She didn’t know what her boss did. Is he ashamed, or does he just not care about informing his agents? I shake it off, but file the information away for later, aware that this is a kind of dance, as she tries to discover anything she can use against me, and I…
I nod. “He isn’t a good man.”
“Who is he?” she asks, dark eyes glassy and wide as she stares into my face.
Cassandra isn’t short by any means, but beside me she has to crane her neck. Dark hair cascades around her face and over her shoulders, contrasting sharply with the porcelain flesh of her tits straining against the fabric of her black dress.
God, how I want to rip that dress off with my bare hands. What is she wearing beneath? Does she even know what she’s doing to me right now? She hasn’t glanced down but if she did, there’d be no ignoring the way my cock is bulging in my pants, trying to get at her, wanting inside that soft warmth between her legs.
I want to kiss her. I want to ruin her. I want to hear her moan and I want to hear her scream. I want her in pain and I want to bring her such pleasure as she’s never experienced.
And the conflict between those two extremes is the only thing that finally stops me from acting.
“Let’s deal with that cut,” I growl, grabbing her hand and marching her through to the lounge, needing to take care of her, yes, and needing to remember that she’s the enemy. I point at the couch. “Sit.”
I wait until she obeys, then stomp through to the kitchen, every movement feeling strained as I leave her.
“Who painted these?” she calls, and I know what she’s looking at.
“I did.”
“You did? Wow, I mean—wow.”
“It was a long time ago. I wanted to be an artist…” I laugh softly to myself as I reach down the first aid kit. The folly of youth. As if my family would ever let me pursue something so frivolous.
“They’re amazing,” she says, coming into the doorway of the kitchen. “You have real talent.”
“I said sit,” I growl.
“Kind of bossy, aren’t you?” She narrows her eyes, but there’s the hint of a grin there too. Her eyes don’t leave mine as she saunters to the island and climbs onto a stool. “There. I’m sitting.”
So a part of her likes being told what to do. And a part of her likes being bratty about it. That’s interesting.
“I am bossy. It’s in my nature. And you’re disobedient.”
“Am I? I came here with you, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did. Not exactly willingly, but you did.”
She’s shed her jacket, leaving her arms bare now. God, I want to push those shoulder straps away. I want to kiss her throat, her collarbone, the nipples I see poking through the fabric of her black dress.
As I come around to the back of the stool, I sense more than hear her breathing become shallower. What does she think I’m going to do to her? And more importantly, does the idea scare her or excite her, or perhaps a little bit of both?
She flinches when I touch the side of her head, then I tilt it to examine the cut under the better lighting here.
“Barely more than a scratch,” I tell her. Just as I thought in the car. “Still, I don’t want it to get infected.” I grab a bottle of ointment and a cotton ball. “This will sting a little. But you don’t mind that, do you?”
She chews on her bottom lip for a moment, then shakes her head. “No. I don’t mind a little pain.”