Page 27 of Craved

He’s changed out of the suit and into jeans and a pale blue button down over a white T-shirt. He looks so much like the man I once loved that I feel my heart hitch, and I hate myself for that little bit of traitorous weakness.

Determined to keep my control, I wrap the sheet tighter around me as I perch on the edge of the bed. I say nothing, but I note that he hasn’t locked the door behind him. It doesn’t matter, though. I don’t know what building we’re in, how many guards are stationed outside, or even if we’re still in New York.

I’ll fight to get free when I have a legitimate chance. Right now, I just want to gather as much intel as I can for when that chance appears.

“What’s the matter?” I ask. “Didn’t like my room?”

“Those little boutique hotels are just too dainty for me,” he says, then sweeps an arm to encompass this tiny space. “So much more character here.”

I keep my eyes only on him. “Is this why you left me? So that you could work with a maniac like Killion Lambert?”

His eyes narrow, and his voice is cold as ice when he says, “Do not make the mistake of thinking you can fool me again.”

I force myself not to react, but my mind is racing, trying to figure out what the hell he means by that. Instead of asking, I say, “Why did you leave me?”

“I told you—I had to. I didn’t want to. Considering what I know now, I should have walked away a hell of a lot sooner.”

“Had to,” I repeat, thinking of that terse note he’d mailed me. “What? Someone had a gun to your head?”

“It might as well have been.” He makes a raw scoffing noise. “I loved you, you know. I actually loved you. It ripped me apart to leave you. But I didn’t have a choice.”

I glance around the room. “If this is how you treat someone you love…”

“Things change,” he says. “Or, actually, they don’t. But things reveal themselves. You know the saying—the more you know…”

There’s no disguising the harshness in his tone, and I don’t understand it. I’m the one who has reason to be harsh. He not only fucking left me, he turned evil. So what the hell does he think I did to him?

His gaze skims over me from head to toe, and though I’m covered by the sheet, I feel completely exposed.

“Drop it,” he says.

“What?”

“The sheet.”

“Screw that,” I say. “You lost the right to see me naked when you skipped out on me.”

“Drop it,” he repeats, “or you’re not getting out of this cell, much less getting a payday.”

“Why? You think I have a weapon stashed?” I tilt my head and offer him a sultry smile. “You already searched me quite thoroughly.”

“You drop the sheet,” he says, his voice pitched in a way that brings back all sorts of decadent memories, “because I’m telling you to.”

My mouth is suddenly very dry. The truth is, I have no choice.

The darker truth is that I want to.

I’m holding the sheet toga-style with one hand on a clump of material gathered between my breasts. Now, I open my hand and let the material fall to the ground. There,” I say, standing naked in front of him. “Paid in full.”

“You want in?” He takes a step toward me, then another. He’s so close, but I’m tempted to lean closer. Maybe I could sneak that key from his pocket…

But then his palms are cupping my bare ass, and he’s pulling me to him. My hands have no place else to go, so I reciprocate, his very fine ass under my hands feeling so painfully familiar.

He bends his head until his lips are close to my ear, and when he whispers, I can feel his breath stir my hair. “What will you give me in return?”

“Whatever you want,” I answer, and the horrible truth is that I mean it. I should hate this man—I do hate him.

But I crave him all the same.