Her delicate nostrils flared.
He supposed that meant she wasn’t happy. Some people were hard to please. Remy brushed by her on his way out.
Jacqueline’s hand flew out and caught his. “How did you know he was lying?”
“Because I’ve seen real IDs that belong to FBI agents. I know a fake when I spot one.” He also knew FBI dress protocol. Everything about the man—and the profuse way he’d started tosweat at the mention of the sheriff—had screamed that he was shady.
Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
“One hundred percent.” Her fingers were sliding lightly along his wrist, and he was liking her touch way too much.
“I’m not dangerous,” she said again as she slowly released him.
His hand slid under her chin. The water was pounding, and steam filled the room. He tipped back her head. Lowered his mouth toward hers. “I wouldn’t care if you were.”
“Remy?”
He wanted her mouth. But he wantedherto make that move. The move that brought them together. Because there was something about her eyes…and the way she retreated…Fear.“Enjoy your shower.” He eased away. Headed for the door. Had almost exited when he remembered. “Oh, yeah, there is plenty of soap under the sink if you need—” Remy spun around as he talked.
She’d already yanked the dress over her head and dropped it to the floor. She still had on white panties. A white bra. Her back was turned to him, and his gaze locked on her.
Or rather, his gaze locked on the dark bruises around her shoulders. Bruises that looked like fingerprints. “What. The. Fuck?” A snarl that broke from him.
Jacqueline instantly whirled around. Gasped. She bent and grabbed for the dress.
“Fuck the dress.” He yanked it from her. “Who the hell put those bruises on you?”
“I-I fell when I was running through the woods—”
“Lie.” His own hands had fisted around the fabric of that shitty dress. A rage burned through him, dark and hot. “I knowfingerprints when I see them. Someone grabbed you, hard. Tell me the bastard’s name, and he’s done.”
“Wh-what?”
Get your control back, now.“No one will be putting bruises on you again. That’s a guarantee.”
Her wide eyes searched his. “You don’t even know me.”
“Yes, I do.” A truth that burned just as hot as his rage. “You’re mine.”
Her lips parted.
“My muse,” he added grimly. “And no one hurts you. No one.”
“Remy…”
“Who was it?”Give me the name, and he is a dead man. I will make him beg before I end the bastard. Just a name. Tell me.
“I need to shower. Let me shower, and then…”
Oh,nowshe wanted to shower. He’d had to practically trick her into the bathroom, and now she was trying to kick him out. His eyes narrowed on her.
“I’ll be your muse,” she whispered. “I want our deal to work. I want to stay here with you.”
He jerked his head in agreement. “Fine. Shower. Be my muse. Andthenyou’ll tell me what I need to know.” He did an about-face and headed for the door.
“Is it…is it because of the man who came to the door? Because of what he said? Do you think that I’m a fugitive? Is that why you have questions now? Remy, answer me!”
“It’s because some bastard put his hands on you and left bruises. That won’t happen again.” He stalked out. Dragged the door shut behind him. Sucked in one deep breath. A second. The rage still blasted through his veins.