Page 45 of Hostile Heir

Page List


Font:  

My heart pounds with fear and attraction, oddly mimicking the pulse in his corded neck. Dark eyes flit from the wilted crown of innocence I once wore to my gaping mouth. For a second he stills. I pray he’ll kiss me. He doesn’t.

Fingertips trace a shivery path along the curve of my neck, gliding across my jaw until they push past my teeth. Without thought, my lips circle his fingers and his pupils magnify. I moan softly as he swiftly removes them and licks the moist tips to taste me.

“Minty.” His sonorous voice ruptures the airless atmosphere like a blazing comet.

I blink up at him, unsure of what the hell is happening to me. Between my legs, a treacherous wetness forms and my chest heaves as I try not to give in to the scorching arousal. I’m off balance by the threat of his physical dominance, his impressively sculpted abdomen, and the unknown look he’s silently dishing out.

Is it so wrong for me to want this man? To be curious about what his terms are, and consider them no matter how irreverent they may be? What if he’s the key to unlock the life I’ve always wanted, and unearth the peace within me I’ve only ever dreamed about? The sort of peace I only get when I orgasm at his mercy.

I shake my head and almost scoff at my greenness. Four days of sex does not equate to a lifetime of happiness, nor does it mean anything more than a woman bought for indecent services.

A sigh escapes me. Tomás steps away, a tiny smile twitching his lips. He continues to walk, strolling ahead while I shudder from the loss of heat his body injected me with.

“Chop-chop.” He clicks his fingers and turns away. “You’ll need a bowl of frosted flakes before we get down to business.” I glance at the ivory paper rectangle quivering in my hand and consider opening it in private. When I don’t follow, he halts and peers over his shoulder at me. “Food, Carina. This way.”

I swallow and obey, somehow mustering the strength to act nonchalant as I amble to his side. Together we leave the sun-drenched open living space and wander into the ritzy kitchen I had visited once before.

Opposite walls of silken gunmetal cabinets frame an elongated island finished with a streamlined marble countertop. Herringbone tiles, the color of roasted coffee beans, sprawl the length of the room to meet glazed French doors at the far end. Copper tube ceiling fixtures hang over the freestanding island in a cluster of three, oozing a dreamy radiance when Tomás flicks the light switch on.

“Take a seat.” He pulls out a padded stool and lightly places his palm on the curve of my spine to guide me. “Marta is unavailable this morning. You like that sugary cereal shit, don’t you?” he smirks, cocking a brow with disdain. “Or are you in the mood for something else?”

Conflict jabs my heart with a needle thin dagger as I settle. He’s not a good man. This temporary truce of suspicion is simply the calm before our war. I must be out of my mind to even consider the outrageous small print contained within the envelope.

He’s fucked me, antagonized me, threatened my life, and the lives of those I love. Yet somehow, beyond all the evil warping his words, there’s a ghost of something so undivided that it rattles my bones.

“Sugary shit will do,” I reply lightly, my shoulders bouncing. “It’s cheap and cheerful.”

He stays quiet and opens the cupboards one by one as if he’s not sure where to look for the frosted flakes. I take a moment to watch him hunt and quickly understand that this isn’t somewhere he spends his time. Whatever Tomás Souza needs, he’s given. People worship him. They serve him.

I place the envelope on the white and gray counter before slipping off the stool to my tip toes. Saying nothing, I walk past him to the larder and select one of the unopened boxes from inside. There weren’t very many the last time—just a half-empty box—and now there are four.

“It’s good to see you know your way about,” he muses.

“A kitchen?” I retort with a sulky huff.

“Mykitchen,” he adds with a sexy as fuck smirk. “You fit in well.”

Every hair on my nape stands to attention when I see the unique wink of a dimple in a half smile that seems so scarce it must be priceless. It activates something inside me, so my temperature soars and my belly flips. I drop my eyes to the cardboard box and start to peel it open for something normal to do, rather than be loath to admit I fancy him.

“You’ll need a bowl for those.” He folds his arms across his chiseled chest and narrows his eyes at me. “And a spoon.”

I shudder in the carnage of my out-of-control arousal and spin away from his scrutiny to catch a breath. In the awkward silence, I march back to my seat, wondering if he knows how shamelessly turned on I am.

Once I’m perched on the stool again, I rip open the plastic packet inside and pop a flake into my mouth to antagonize him. I can eat my breakfast whatever way I choose.

I don’t hear him come up behind me, too lost in the adrenaline of defiance pumping through me. He rests a hand on my shoulder and dips into the side of my face. Instantly, I suck in and almost choke on the mush I haven't swallowed yet.

Hot breath warms my cheek and his gravelly voice destroys any shred of rebellion I think I’m capable of. “Never disobey me. Perhaps you should review the terms now... before I feel the need to punish you.”

I cough into my fist and wish for a glass of water. “Okay,” I say on a raspy half bark.

His grip on me tightens before it vanishes without a trace. Tomás silently moves behind me and when I dare to look over my shoulder at him, he’s facing the open fridge and unscrewing a bottle of water. In a heartbeat, he’s by my side again.

“Drink.” The firmness of his tone tells me it's not a suggestion.

When I press the bottle to my lips, he strolls away again, giving me space to breathe and gather myself. I don’t speak, but gladly sip plenty. A tinkle of cutlery is followed by a clatter of bone china.

“Do you like coffee?” he asks, completely out of the blue, calm and, dare I think it, ordinarily conversational.


Tags: Autumn Archer Romance