“I don’t give a fuck about her.”
“Then what, Malachi?” I murmur.
“Last time I’m going to tell you: Stop calling me that name,” he warns me through clenched teeth.
“It’s your name though,” I point out, still softly.
Tension is a tangible, nearly visible entity in this room. It fairly streams off his big body in waves. My nature—at least with him—is to poke. But instinct coaches me to hold off. To wait. To give him time. To hold out my hand to him as if he were a wary, wounded, yet still very dangerous predator, then allow him to come to me.
“It’s not my name,” he finally says, and the words sound as ifthey traveled through miles of gravel to reach me. “Not anymore. Malachi died years ago.”
Died with his foster father on that dirty linoleum floor.He doesn’t include that, but I hear it as loud and clear as if he did.
“Fine.” I pause.“Huntsman.”
But because he committed the equivalent of licking my hand and I’m thatgive an inch, they’ll take the city blockmu’fucka, I edge closer. And closer still until my nose bumps his, until my breath mingles with his.
“Why don’t I know what I’m talking about?” I press, unwilling to let it go. I can’t. At this point, it’s almost physically impossible. “You set me straight on it not being about Abena. So it’s not about her sending you to track me down. Definitely not about me tracking you. So, what is it? What is it?” I hum, eyes narrowed, studying his beautiful impassive face.
Then a thought flashes in my head an instant before disbelief and anger catch fire behind my rib cage. My hand shoots out, gripping his jaw in a firm hold that gives him no choice but to look at me.
“The fuck? Is this about my calling you beautiful?” My fingers press deeper into his skin, molding to bone. I won’t be surprised if I leave bruises behind shaped like the ridges and whorls of my prints.
I snatch my hand away, but before I can scoot back and place much-needed space between us, his hand shoots out and cuffs my wrist.
“This is about you following me and thinking you know me.” He jerks me closer until his breath brushes my lips in an almost kiss. “You got some obscure-ass facts from a fucking family tree that don’t mean shit. It just makes you a stalker with a research fetish. What the fuck do you, of all people, know about beauty? About a soul? You’re up here trying to pry into my brain when you can’t even be truthful about your own shit.”
For the first time ever with him, a sliver of fear wiggles its wayinto my heart, and I want to pull away, afraid of what is about to come out of his mouth.
As if he anticipates my move, he raises a hand and cups the nape of my neck, holding me in place. I could fight him, slam the heel of my palm into his sternum, and use that action to roll and grab the batons. But I’m trapped not just by his grip on my neck but by his words, the cold yet wild look in his eyes, the cruel yet vulnerable slant to his mouth.
In this instant, he’s a boxer coming out of his corner, swinging wildly so he doesn’t go down for the count.
“You’re questioning me, but you still haven’t answered why you’re here. Why aren’t you at the hospital with the people you’re supposed to love and protect? The people who need you. Instead, you’re here, hiding.”
“Shut up,” I whisper, now my turn to order him to stop talking.
For the first time, well… ever, he smiles.
And it’s cruel.
It’s beautiful.
“Oh yeah, you’re hiding, olori. And running scared. Someone coming for you? You don’t give a fuck about that. But coming after your—”
I surge forward, crushing my mouth to his.
CHAPTER TENMalachi
Shock sweeps through me, and I can’t move.
Her soft, supple mouth presses to mine.
Jesus. I… I’ve never…
Her tongue sweeps along the seam of my lips, and though mine remain closed, I swear I can taste her. Taste that sweet and earthy musk.
It’s that tease of flavor and the blood pumping hot through my veins, filling my cock so fast, so hard, I’m momentarily light-headed that causes me to inhale sharply. Causes me to release a moan so rough, it emerges from the deepest, darkest parts of me.
