“Risk you saying something that contradicts the story. Risk Emma reading between the lines. Risk everything I’ve done to keep you alive.”
When we reach the cabin, I open the door and wait for her to enter first. She doesn’t move.
“So I’m supposed to just let Allie think I abandoned her? Let her worry and search and…”
“Yes. Saint.” I meet her eyes. “That’s exactly what you’re going to do, because your best friend caring about you doesn’t trump you staying alive.”
“This isn’t living.”
“It’s better than dying.”
Something shifts in her expression, from anger to something colder, more calculating.
“You’re afraid,” she says softly. “Not of Roman. Not of Emma Porter. You’re afraid of what happens when I’m reminded there’s a world outside this cabin. Outside you.”
The accuracy stings. “Get inside.”
“Make me.”
Fucking fine. If she wants me to be the monster, then I’ll be the monster. I stalk toward her, grab her up, and toss her over my shoulder. She kicks her legs out once, but I slap her ass hard enough to make her squawk and march into the cabin.
I close the door and turn the lock into place.
Inside the cabin, I toss Saint on the bed and turn away, needing a little distance before I do something drastic like kiss her until she’s boneless and the fight has left her.
“What if the rodeo doesn’t go as planned? What if your father doesn’t believe us?”
Her questions make me anxious, even more since I know there’s a chance this entire thing could blow up in my face. I’ll have to accept part of the fallout since I lied to my father, and there will be punishment for that, but Saint should be safe.
“There won’t be any reason for him not to believe us. You play your part, and I play mine, and everyone walks away with their limbs attached.”
“I don’t like lying. Pretending. It feels wrong.”
“That’s only because you’ve been raised to believe that lying is a sin. This is deeper than that. Bigger than that. It’s life and death. There’s no room for moral obligation.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“Me either, but it has to be done. Now stop fucking questioning it.”
Her shoulders go rigid, and she huffs. “Why are you pissed off at me now?”
I stalk back and get into her face, then haul her up to stare down into her wide eyes. “Because I’m trying to keep you alive, and it feels like all you have is a death wish.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but I cup the back of her head, clench my fist in her hair, and pull her mouth to mine. She can’t fucking argue with my tongue down her throat. She jolts and then melts into my grasp, molding to my chest, and the sound that whispers out of her shoots straight to my dick.
I don’t kiss her gently.
There’s nothing soft about this. My mouth claims hers with bruising force, teeth scraping her bottom lip until she gasps. Iuse that opening to deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding against hers, tasting the defiance she was about to throw at me.
Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer even as her body trembles.
The contradiction drives me insane. She fights me with words but surrenders with her body, and I can’t get enough of it.
I walk her backward until her spine hits the wall. The impact forces another gasp from her throat, and I swallow the sound. My hand stays tangled in her honey-blond hair, controlling the angle of her head, keeping her exactly where I want her. My other hand grips her hip hard enough to bruise, pinning her between the wall and my body.
She’s so small against me. Delicate. Breakable. The thought makes something dark and possessive twist in my gut.Mine.This reckless, stubborn woman who doesn’t know when to quit is mine. Her tongue slides against mine, tentative at first, then bolder. Learning. Matching my aggression with something that feels like surrender but tastes like want.
I tear my mouth from hers, trailing rough kisses down her jaw to her throat. Her pulse hammers beneath my lips. Fast. Wild. I bite down on the sensitive skin there, not hard enough to break skin but enough to mark, and she whimpers.
