Page 26 of Entangled

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“No, you won’t tell or no, no one has touched you?”

Both of them.

Cara refused to say that out loud. Gian only smiled like he already knew the fucking truth, like he could see it written all over her face.

“Right. I would be willing to bet he knows fuck all when it comes to you,” Gian said with a dark, husky laugh. “Like the way you won’t get your ass out of bed in the morning, or all the little secrets you like to hold onto because you’re locked up way too tight in your heart, and it takes a fucking sledge hammer to get through.”

Gian inched closer, his unique scent soaking into Cara’s lungs like a familiar drug. Liquor and leather and man. “Let’s be honest, Cara, he doesn’t know the shit that matters, really. He probably doesn’t know what you like, either. I bet he doesn’t know how you liked to be choked when you come, or the way you beg like a good little slut to have your ass filled when your—”

Cara’s hand came up swift and hard. She didn’t even think about it. Her palm cracked against Gian’s cheek with enough force to silence the nearby tables of people.

“Excuse me, miss, do you need anything?”

The sound of the bartender’s voice had Gian’s burning gaze flying over Cara’s shoulder, probably burrowing a fucking hole into the poor man who dared to intrude.

“It’s fine,” Cara said. “We’re perfectly fine.”

“If you’re sure …?”

“She’s sure,” Gian uttered through clenched teeth.

Emotions warred within Cara, heating her cheeks and making her body vibrate. Her palm stung, but she didn’t care. She glared at Gian, daring him to say another word, even when her hand dropped back down to her side. He didn’t look away, but rather, his smirk grew sinful, like he had gotten exactly the reaction he wanted.

“I can say more, if you want,” he said.

“Shut your mouth. How dare you, Gian?”

“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me any man, except me, knows those things, and owns those things where you’re concerned. Tell me.”

She couldn’t.

“You can’t say it, can you?” he asked.

“Fuck you.”

“Tell me to get the hell away from you, then.”

Cara didn’t.

She hated herself for that, too.

What she despised even more, was when he kissed her—hard, demanding, and rough, just the way she liked the most—she didn’t push him away. No, she fisted his jacket and bought him closer, she sighed at the familiarity of his hand curving around her throat and his tongue dancing with hers. She soaked in his scent, reveled in his taste, and hated herself for every second of it.

She wanted more, so she just pulled him closer.

Every bit of anger and disgust came out in Cara’s kiss, and even more bled away the longer she didn’t force Gian to stop. Not when his thumb pressed into her racing pulse, or his teeth bit into her lower lip.

She couldn’t breathe, but fucking hell, she was awake and alive again for the first time in months.

Why did it have to be like this?

Why him and her?

Why?