“Don’t give me that bullshit. You left your phone here in the kitchen, and he called you this morning. I didn’t answer, but, yeah, I looked at your messages. And, what do you know? All of them are about me.” He slapped the phone into my open palm as I watched, dismayed. The screen was open to a long text chain between me and my psychiatrist. “Why the fuck did he ask you to get close to me and keep tabs on me? Did you also know all along that liar was my father?” he raged, and I stared at his face, twisted in anger.
“I didn’t know Dr. Keller was your father until you told me. He just asked me to be there for you and to encourage you to go back to therapy because he thinks you’re a good kid.” I stared into his eyes, trying to show him how sincere I was.
“Is that why you were always showing up? The pool house, the clinic, at school…because he asked you to do it?” he guessed, and I was hit with a wave of his hot breath, smelling of smoke and coffee. “You were lying to me too. Just like everyone else…” He grabbed my arm impulsively, and in his rage, he pulled me painfully toward him.
I put a hand on his wrist, trying to claw his hand away.
“Neil, you’re hurting me. Let go.” I tried to twist away, but his shadowed gaze kept me pinned to the spot, and I felt a stab of fear in the pit of my stomach.
“I don’t fucking trust anyone anymore. You were the only person I shared any part of my life with for these past few months, and you…you agreed to keep an eye on me for him? Was that the deal?” he went on wrathfully, his naked chest heaving with his ragged breath. I needed to find some way to calm him down before it was too late.
“I didn’t know he was your father. You have to believe me,” I said again, chagrined. “He just wanted me to support you as a friend. That’s it. I thought it was kind of a weird request too, but John has always been good to me and kind, and he’s a great therapist. I had no idea that he was keeping a secret like that,” I explained. His eyes narrowed to slits as he evaluated my answer.
“Megan, if you are lying to me…” he tightened his fingers around my arm for emphasis.
“I’m not lying to you. I swear it.” Neil was the last person I’d ever lie to. For six fucking months, I’d been suppressing feelings and nullifying my emotions, but everything had changed in one night. It hurt to think of him not trusting me. “Honestly. I wouldn’t do that.” I exhaled against his full lips.
We were so close; all I’d have to do was lean forward a little, and I’d be kissing him.
That was, in fact, what my body had been screaming at me to do for the past few minutes.
Neil released me with an anguished sigh.
“I would never hurt you. Whatever your relationship with John, that has nothing to do with me,” I went on. I rubbed my arm where it had been crushed in his grip and inched closer to him. Neil stood motionless, staring at me. At my every movement and facial expression. He was studying me, scrutinizing me thoroughly, and a shiver of apprehension ran down my spine, raising goosebumps all over my skin. Neil noticed it, his eyes moving over my bare arms.
“Megan,” he said, and I raised my head to look at him. I locked eyes with him, hoping to reassure him, but he remained unmoved. “I hope for your sake that you aren’t lying to me. Because, if you are, you’re out of my life for good,” he said firmly, his gaze unyielding. His eyes had an unsettling gleam, and there was no more anger in his face, just a dangerous sort of determination.
I chewed my lower lip, feeling weak. I felt like I couldn’t trust my body anymore. It went up in flames whenever he got near me.
I should have been afraid, should have run away, but instead I chose to follow my instincts. The same instincts that had been tormenting me internally since I spotted him sitting on that stool.
“Neil…” My voice was warm, hoarse, and frustratingly aroused. He frowned. I broke the unbearable tension between us by standing up on my tiptoes to kiss him.
I expected him to do something, to shove me away or yell at me, but none of that happened.
For a man who valued control so much, Neil seemed, for once, unable to keep a lid on his emotions. He was becoming vulnerable, yielding with me. I used my tongue to urge him to indulge me and groaned when he, unable to pull away from my kiss, bit down hard on my lip. I refused to give up and boldly demanded his reciprocity.
Eventually he let his instincts take the lead and surrendered.
Kissing him was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before—I couldn’t help myself.
I stroked his hard chest and clasped him around the waist to pull him closer to me, to feel his hard-on exactly where I wanted it. He growled in frustration as he gave in to the kiss, but his body told me clearly that he wanted me.
The desire grew overwhelming, and I pushed him down onto the sofa. I situated myself astride his lap and looped my arms around his neck. I ran my hands through his hair, so soft under my fingertips. My nipples were so stiff that they made just the right kind of friction against my tank top. His clean smell overwhelmed me.
“You really are a bitch.” He reached down to grope my ass cheeks. I gasped for breath as he gave me more rough kisses.
He had taken control once again.
“Never said I wasn’t,” I answered, my voice contorted with longing. I was already so wet for him, eager to belong to him again. “And you want me just as much as I want you. I see that now, Miller.” A guttural moan of profound pleasure rose up from his throat, my pussy clenched, and I dug my nails into him desperately. It was a move that drove him wild. He sucked in a breath and bit my lower lip until it bled, tearing my tank top roughly from my body. He stripped me of everything, not just my clothes but also my reason and common sense.
Why was he the only one who affected me like this?
Why did my arousal go through the roof with him?
Why had I never really been drawn to anyone like him before?
Why did I thrill at the idea of being his again?
