"Punish you."
"What kind of punishment are we talking about?"
"Anything I want."
Bloody hell.
"And if I don't tell you that I wrote them? If I tell you who did?"
He knows, I can see it in his eyes, and he looks as if he’s running out of patience. Honestly, I'm not sure he had that much to begin with. He frowns. "You were the only person that would know the things that you wrote. You were the only one privy tothe information that was in those books. And the reason why we need to know is because it's clear that you also know things in those books you haven't revealed, things that would risk your friends’ safety and mine. And I want to know everything."
It's true. I do know things, because I've researched as much as I can. Though this is the only Clan I've watched, it isn't the only one I've investigated. I have connections to the McCarthy family in Ireland and to the brutal Welsh.
“Fran.” One word, one syllable, a warning I should heed.
I open my mouth to talk, but no words come out.
“We’ll start with you stripping, then."
I blink in surprise and try to laugh it off. “Oh, Tate. I didn't know that you were interested in me like that."
I expect him to deny it. I expect him to say something all macho like, "This has nothing to do with my attraction to you. This is about me researching for our Clan." But he says nothing of the sort. He looks at me with bald truth in his eyes, the kind of look that’s honest. The kind that makes you want to be honest yourself.
He leans in, lowering his voice so it’s a whisper against my cheek. "Don't you realize that if I didn't want you for myself, I would've gone straight to my brothers?"
Oh God. Yes. This makes sense. I don't know if I’m excited or more afraid than ever.
“I guess you could've done that," I say diplomatically, my words drowned out by the pounding in my ears, the rapid beating of my heart making me feel lightheaded and woozy. Again, I warwith excitement and fear, a delicious combination that leaves me breathless.
He wants me.
He’s going to punish me.
But he wants me.
How does a man who wants a woman punish her?
"Of course I could have. Instead, I decided that I’d take you alone. Here, in the privacy of my cabin, where you’re going to tell me everything." He jerks his head to the bedroom. “First, go to my room.”
He takes my arm, and I feel all tingly and lightheaded as he leads me to the bedroom. There's nothing seductive about what he's doing right now, and my cheeks flame with embarrassment. This is nothing more than marching me off to face my punishment. I feel as if I'm being hauled into the headmaster’s office.
"Oh," I say in what I hope is a seductive tone. "Am I getting marched to the headmaster’s office to be paddled?"
He grunts. "Absolutely."
Oh God. I thought that he was going to deny it or make some quip about punishing a different way. But apparently, that’s exactly what he has in mind, dammit.
He lets me go when we're in his room, and I quickly take a look around. It's fucking gorgeous, with the continuation of muted colors and clean lines, a sturdy bed, and a faintly masculine scent that lingers. I wasn’t prepared for how this would feel, seeing the lion’s lair in person. Excitement ripples through meat the sight of the navy duvet, and fluffy white pillows. Does he bring women here? I perish the thought.
I can see the toilet from here, complete with an ancient clawfoot tub, everything gleaming white and silver, clean and tiled. There's a stand-up shower as well, a nice touch so no one needs to be subjected to antiquated ways. But to the left there's a door that leads out to a patio. From here, I can see a circular fire pit, and comfortable-looking chairs. And is that a bar? Everything's glass windows.
I feel so exposed here.
“Clothes off.”
“Wow, so no foreplay then?”
He responds with a growl. I quickly move to obey.
