The blanket doesn’t make a sound when it puddles around her on the couch before she stands, the awareness of not being alone finally sinking in.
I bite my lip, my eyes drinking in the sight of her satin pajamas and long, tanned legs. The whites of her eyes look so much brighter in the dancing candlelight—vivid and alert. Little does she realize that just glancing at her slays me. Nevertheless, I start to rise as her voice whispers between us.
“I know you’re here. I can feel you watching me, Gio,” she murmurs, as if doubting her intuition.
I could play dirty and continue to hide myself, make her think she’s alone and then go in for the win when she settles back down for the night.
In reality, she wouldn’t stand a chance if I cornered her, pinned her body to the floor, and took her hard in front of the fireplace.
But that's not why I’m here. Slowly, I take a step towards her, remaining completely quiet when my shoulders graze the light. Our eyes lock—mine shaded and hers wide.
“Gio?” she asks, confusion scrunching up her pretty face as she studies the plain black face covering.
The longer I say nothing, the more she fidgets with the buttons on her short-sleeved blouse. Her throat bobs as she swallows and cautiously backs into the stone hearth behind her.
But she’s smart and knows this tech pimped manor house is her safe place. Except life doesn’t always go to plan. The second she opens her mouth to challenge me, I flip the script.
Flicking out my arm, I unwind the chain on my wrist and wrap it around both of my hands, holding it taut in a straight line. If used correctly, it would strangle someone in a matter of seconds or restrain them, depending on my mood.
I won’t hurt her, that's not my intention, but I am prepared to scare her. I want to see how she reacts under pressure, especially when she’s not half-sedated.
The mental replay of her lying on that trolley in the slaughterhouse still haunts me. How the gut-wrenching pain had felt a million times more crushing than I would have ever thought possible.
Her eyes cut to the only exit. The rush of power I get when she finally considers me a threat is, well, it's surprisingly addictive for a man whose only vice is murder. Or maybe it's knowing I could easily catch her, that no one would hear her screams, and she’d be wetter than the rainstorm outside when I subdue her.
She starts to breathe harder, and so do I. Clutching the phone to her chest, she jumps onto the coffee table, drops off the other side, and makes a run for it.
Good girl.
I know her well enough to predict she’d use the darkness to hide in and hurry along the hallway toward the kitchen, where she’d take sanctuary behind the steel doors with Leo.
Except, her handprint no longer works on the digital pad, and I’ve already locked all the exits. There’s no way out—and no way in.
Giving her a little time, I casually prowl through the unlit corridor after her, aware of the blood in my veins growing hotter. I stall in the doorway to watch her repeatedly palm the wall mounted screen.
Access denied.
Blonde hair spills down her spine, flowing like a waterfall to her ass, where my gaze is helplessly drawn. I could tell her I’ve temporarily disabled it and let her know she’s stuck in here with me. But killers don’t reveal their tactics. They simply hunt.
“What the hell is this?” she hisses, reluctantly giving up on the door.
Her blue eyes run wild all over me as she keeps her back to the window. Skirting the cabinetry, she moves closer to the butcher's knife block on the counter. “Is this your idea of training?”
You have to start somewhere, baby.
I take a step, then another, urging her to move quicker and grab the biggest blade she can get her hands on. Waving it in the air, she stands her ground. Her muscles are braced and the uncertain look on her pretty face betrays the confidence she’s desperately trying to portray.
Pausing before her, I take a second to watch the vein in her neck thrum and absorb the energy of her fear. My stomach shouldn’t flip at the sight of her vulnerability, and my dick shouldn't ache for the chance to push her to the limit. But fuck, I’m buzzed.
What should be a routine lesson in self-defense becomes something far more challenging––for me.
India licks her lips and sips air, pressing a hand to her belly as she returns my gaze.
“I know it’s you! Why aren’t you saying anything?” The blade slices the air. “Speak to me or I’ll… I’ll…” she stammers. “I’ll end up hurting you.”
She shuffles backwards, a little wary of my next move. Delicate shoulders roll, ready to react and come at me at any second.
In a lightning movement, I barge into her. I use the chain to loop the blade and rip it from her hand. It flies across the room and skids along the tiles, out of reach.
