Her eyes shot to him.Fix your face.
Too late. Her lips parted and body responded in ways he already knew how to read.
“So, here’s what I think,” he continued. “I think Burt figured it out. He named the wolf and paid with his life. Now there’s one other person with the same puzzle pieces.” Emory lightly traced a knuckle along her bare knee. “You.”
Though his touch was tender, brutality remained in his stare. The sentiment menaced in its mismatch. He would sooner savage her than save her. Fading fast beneath his scrutiny, Amelia shook her head.
“No, I…I don’t know.”
“You seem unsure.”
Emory’s mouth curled in a smile that would’ve been painfully gorgeous, except for how it peeled back the curtain and bathed her in limelight. Time to spill her guts and shine. Amelia demurred instead, wilting at center stage.
“I don’t know anything about that. I swear. The things I saw didn’t mean anything to me the way it did Burt.”
It wasn’t an attempt at subterfuge. Too captivated by his photograph, she hadn’t fully consumed the folder’s contents and could only recall a mishmash of information.
“So, you did see something.”
Amelia licked her lips and eyed the stairs to the courtyard. With no savior in sight, a searing ache returned to her chest. She’d revealed too much but knew so little. A dog with a bone, Emory wouldn’t stop.
“Look at me,” he rasped and gripped her thigh. Amelia stared at his hand but didn’t move. “You knew enough to run, to know that the Velascos aren’t the same. You know more than you’retelling me. Just give me a name, Amelia. That’s all I need and I will make this go away for you.”
Emory’s attention lingered on her lips again as if he meant to extract the secrets there. His grip tightened too.He must know I’m not wearing underwear.What would he do with that knowledge? Make her spill her secrets in other ways?
Amelia desperately wanted to believe he wasn’t that kind of man, but what did she know about him? That he wanted to fuck her. That was inarguable, and he wanted her to know it too.
Emory bit down on his bottom lip as his gaze explored her body. He seemed to take his time at the parts he liked best—her bare thighs, full breasts, soft lips. Amelia squirmed in her seat. Emory relented with a sigh and removed his hand from her leg.
“Alright, I tell you what. I know you’re tired. I am too. Sleep on it, and in the morning, I have a feeling you’ll remember all the little details eluding you now.”
Another false smile graced his mouth. Once more, it didn’t match the look in his eyes. The disconnect invited more dread because it wasn’t sweet sympathy. A threat prowled in his gently spoken words. Emory put a finer point on it.
“Last night wasn’t about shit luck or being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Velascos have a death warrant for me and now you, understand? The longer you withhold, the less I have to act on. We have a common enemy, and I’m trying to help you.”
There it was again, the Royal We. Both he and Mirabelle tried to draw a fated thread between them. Amelia snipped it for good.
“I don’t care what you’re trying to do.”
Emory sucked in an offended breath that he held in his chest. That’s right. He wanted gratitude, down on her knees in praise. Amelia refused.
“Then I guess we’re done here,” he said with a cold snap.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Amelia replied, just as frigid.
Emory stood and roughly shoved his chair into the table. In an absurd gesture of chivalry, he held out his hand to her. Amelia contemplated his calloused palm and long fingers but rejected it. Shestarted toward the stairs and ascended them, keenly aware of Emory close behind.
Inside, he led the way through the mansion to the bedroom Mirabelle had deposited her in earlier. It was sterile and lifeless with stiff bed linens and side tables with nothing but a lamp on each and an alarm clock on one. When Emory nudged open the door, dim light spilled into the hall. Amelia stood beside it and waited for him to leave.
He didn’t depart, only demanded with a surly bark, “What? This is gonna have to be good enough. I’m not putting my sister out of her room on your behalf.”
“I didn’t ask you to. I didn’t ask to be here. I didn’t ask for any of this!”
Too afflicted with bone-deep fatigue, Amelia didn’t care that her voice echoed in the hall. She did a dangerous thing, stepping toe-to-toe with him and causing a scene, though no one was there to see. Without an audience to intervene, Emory walked her into the wall and propped his hands on either side of her head.
In the darkness, his hulking shadow leaned in close, but shadows didn’t expel sharp breaths on the brink of coming undone or radiate heat that invaded the shallow void between them. With her back against the wall, Emory’s strong arms caged her in, and his breath warmed her ear.
“I heard about the stunt you pulled earlier in Mirabelle’s room. You wanna rage? Then rage at me.” One hand slipped to her waist and the other gripped her throat. “Fill me up,” he said, his nose brushing her cheek. “I can take it. But if you hurt my sister, then I hurt you worse. Pain you can’t imagine.”
