I let out a soft, involuntary sound, leaning into his heat.
He pulls back slightly, his breathing ragged. He rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.
"If we do this," Malcolm murmurs, his voice a harsh, broken rasp in the quiet kitchen, "the contract is void. There is no consulting fee. There is no professional boundary. If you walk into my bedroom tonight, you are not a consultant. You are not a weapon against my family."
He opens his eyes, looking directly into mine. The absolute, terrifying intensity in his gaze pins me to the spot.
"If you walk into that room, Audrey, you are staying."
He is giving me the out. He is standing on the edge of the cliff, offering me the chance to step back before we both jump.
I look at the man who bought an investigator’s silence, paid my mother’s debts, and threatened his own father’s empire just tokeep me safe. He is a monster to the rest of the world. But to me, he is the only solid ground I have stood on in months.
I slide my hand down his chest, my fingers catching the edge of his tie. I pull it slowly, unknotting the silk, and let it drop to the floor.
"I didn't pack a bag when I left my apartment," I say quietly. "I already moved in."
Malcolm exhales a sharp, heavy breath.
He doesn't ask again. He drops his hands to my waist, grips my hips, and lifts me completely off the floor.
I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms locking around his neck. He carries me out of the kitchen, his strides long and urgent. We pass the dark living room, the hallway, and the closed door of the guest suite.
He walks straight into the master bedroom and kicks the door shut behind us with a loud, definitiveslam.
The room is pitch black, the heavy blackout curtains drawn tight. He doesn't turn on a light. He carries me to the edge of the massive king-sized bed and lets my feet touch the rug.
I don't let go of his neck. I pull his mouth back down to mine, kissing him with a desperate, frantic energy that has been building since the moment he put the ring on my finger.
Malcolm’s hands move to the zipper at the back of my trousers. He is not gentle. He is efficient. The zipper slides down, the heavy fabric falling away, leaving me in nothing but the silk camisole and my underwear.
He steps back, pulling his shirt over his head in one swift motion.
The faint ambient light from the hallway bleeding under the door catches the sharp lines of his chest and abdomen. I see the pale, jagged scar on his neck, trailing down toward his collarbone. I reach out, my fingers trembling slightly, and trace the raised skin.
Malcolm catches my wrist. He doesn't pull my hand away, but he brings my palm to his mouth, pressing a hard kiss to the center of it.
"You're shaking again," he murmurs against my skin.
"It’s not fear," I promise him.
"I know."
He steps into my space, his hands gripping my waist. He pushes me gently backward until the backs of my knees hit the mattress. We fall onto the bed together in a tangle of limbs. The high-thread-count sheets are cool against my bare legs, but the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress is absolute fire.
He pins my wrists to the pillows above my head. It isn't a painful grip, but it is completely immovable.
I gasp, my back arching off the mattress.
Malcolm lowers his head, his mouth trailing down my jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin of my neck. He bites lightly at the juncture of my shoulder, the sharp sting sending a violent jolt of electricity straight to my core.
"Malcolm," I breathe, my fingers curling against the pillows, completely trapped in his grip.
"Tell me what you want," he demands, his voice a dark, rough vibration against my collarbone.
"You," I say, the word tearing out of my throat. "Just you."
He releases my wrists, his hands sliding down my sides to grip my hips. He pulls the silk camisole over my head, tossing it onto the floor.
