Pierce stepped forward.
He wrapped his fingers around my wrist and pulled me over the threshold.
Releasing it, he circled behind me and brushed my damp hair to the side, then settled an arm around me. “Welcome to my lair, babygirl.”
CHAPTER 36
PIERCE
She smelled like sea salt and sex.
My hand tightened on her waist.
Madison stepped away and moved deeper into the library. She raised her arm and slipped her fingertips over the spines with reverence. Coming to a stop, she closed her eyes and inhaled.
I didn’t have to ask why. As a fellow book lover, I knew how intoxicating the scent of leather, varnish, and pulp mixed with close to a century of wood smoke was.
“Do you like my library?” There was no point in denying I deliberately brought her to this room to impress her. What I would deny was the reason why.
Stepping back from the bookshelves, she wrapped her arms tightly across her chest. “What happens now?”
If I told her the truth…she’d try to run for the cliffs again.
As she stood before the roaring fire, all I could think about was tearing off her clothes and fucking her on the thick Persian rug. I wanted to pour ridiculously expensive wine over her body and drink from her navel, weave strands of pearls in her hair and crush rose petals under her knees as I took her from behind. I wanted to hear her read her favorite book to me while I lickedher pussy until she couldn’t focus on the words printed on the pages anymore.
My brother’s death had been a lie, and I’d known almost from the start.
Jameson was never as clever as he thought he was.
It was clear his plan was to make people think he was dead, kill me, then take my place.
My assumption was he intended Madison to be a witness to the crash to make it credible, and nothing more—which was precisely why I framed her for murder.
Jameson may have set up the game, but I changed the rules.
Just to fuck with him. And to draw him out.
At the time, I assumed a few weeks in jail and a couple million dollars for her trouble would settle it. Madison would sign an NDA and move on.
Then I saw her at the funeral, and everything changed.
She was standing at a distance.
At first, I thought it was an illusion.
That ethereal quality of innocence and taboo sensuality like a Fragonard painting come to life.
When I finally met her…touched her…tasted her.
Something shifted. I viewed her innocence and natural beauty as a vacuum that needed to be filled with all my dark, obsessive desires. As if she were some untouched vessel for me to spoil.
That moment in the bookstore became my favorite fantasy. Not just the memory of her on her knees, her beautiful eyes shimmering with unshed tears, her mouth reluctantly open, waiting. Or the sight of her swallowing my hot come, knowing the taste of me would be in her mouth the entire time she was handcuffed and led away by police officers under my control.
It was the look on her face in that very first moment.
Pure guilelessness, as if she truly didn’t know there was evil in the world.
As if monsters could only exist between the pages of a book, and good always won.
