My heart skipped at the simple touch. Up until now, I’d always grabbed her elbow or arm—keeping our roles perfectly clear. So, what was I doing grabbing her hand like an equal?
Her fingers twitched then looped purposely through mine.
My cock hardened and I slammed to a halt. Christ, I wanted her.
Her nails were long and the tips suddenly sliced into the back of my hand.
I hissed between my teeth. The pinpricks of pain sent me reeling into a memory of her clutching my back as I thrust deep inside her.
Her fingers turned white as she tightened her grip. I didn’t jolt as two fingernails broke my skin and drew blood. This was a perfect example of her undoing. She didn’t understand me. Didn’t understandthat she’d just given me a gift better than anything. With pain, came relief, and with relief, came snow.
My heart slowed its beat. My temper faded. Any remaining fire dwindled to nothing. “Thank you for reminding me of my role in your life, Ms. Weaver. What just happened won’t happen again.”
I won’t be so weak as to kiss you again.
I won’t be so stupid to believe you can see me.
She tilted her chin. “Good.”
I slipped into the dutiful firstborn son. “Kindly remove your claws.”
A coy smile played with her lips. “My claws?” She blinked innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Lowering my head, I murmured, “You know exactly what I mean.”
Your claws around my fucking heart.
Untangling our fingers, I snagged her elbow. The throb where her nails had punctured helped me focus. I’d been blinded by her. Hypnotised by a promise of more—of a connection I never dared dream of.
It was a lie.
And I was sick of being used.
Striding down the corridor, dragging my prey through the house, I said, “No more, Ms. Weaver. No more games. We’re through.”
* * * * *
The solar.
A room hidden on the second floor located down twining corridors. Glass cases lined the hallways displaying ancient crochet and needlepoint. Black Diamond brothers and visitors were prohibited from this floor.
It was feminine territory—housing only my grandmother and sister, along with my father’s study and private rooms. His bedroom was up another level in one of the turrets. Fortified and armed, ready for a war that never came.
Nila didn’t speak as I guided her up the massive spiral stone staircase in the east wing. She’d gone peculiarly obedient but lagged behind me; I practically had to drag her.
“Where are you taking me?” Her eyes darted around the second floor as we stepped onto the landing.
“You’ll find out soon enough.” Gritting my teeth, I pulled her forward.
“Did a Weaver do those?” she asked, jerking me to a stop to stare at an embroidery of Hawksridge Hall bathed in golden sunlight with wild horses prancing on the front lawn.
“No.”
Her eyes met mine. “Who did then?”
“No one you need to know about.” We moved in testy silence to the large double doors at the end.
“Is this where you sleep? Upstairs, I mean?”
