Page 92 of Her Vampire, His Ruin

Moments later, I’m scaling her kitchen extension. By the time I’ve pulled myself up onto her balcony and cranked open her window, she’s stepping into her bedroom, a carving knife in her hand. At least she had the good sense to grab something sharper than a butter knife.

“You’re insane,” she snaps, waving the knife between us as her eyes narrow to angry slits.

“Says the woman brandishing a knife at me,” I retort, stepping into her bedroom and shrugging off my sodden suit jacket. It lands with a wet slap against the wooden floorboards, and her eyes widen as I reach for my shirt and rip it open, the buttons scattering around the room.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m wet. I’m taking my clothes off,” I explain, reaching for the zipper of my pants and undoing them.

Her gaze drops to my legs and the thorny vine tattoos winding around them, the same tattoo that wraps in a continuous vine around my chest, arms, and neck. I kick off my shoes and trousers, a pair of silk boxer shorts, the only item of clothing covering my very obvious erection.

“I swear to all that is holy, if you come any closer. I will stab you.”

Fuck, she’s exquisite in her anger.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. But know this, I’m not leaving until we’ve cleared the air.”

I throw my arms out in an invitation for her to do her worst. Whatever punishment she chooses to inflict, I’m ready to accept it. Moments pass and her eyes trail over every inch of my skin, the heat of her stare thrilling, her wrath intoxicating. Something in her expression shifts, and desire flickers beneath the mask of her anger.

“You’re incredibly hard,” she mumbles, then scowls, shaking her head as though trying to free herself from the thought. I’m not entirely certain if she’s talking about my cock, or the rest of me.

“And you’re soft in all the right places,” I reply, my gaze trailing over her body covered by loose pyjamas that shouldn’t be sexy but are.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“It’s most definitely a compliment,” I reply, taking a step towards her.

She takes a step back, her hand lifting as she jabs the knife in the air between us once again. “Take one more step and I’ll be forced to cut off that pretty cock of yours,” she warns.

What is it about the Valenti sisters threatening to cut off cocks? I almost ask her, but nod solemnly instead. If she needs to hold on to that knife to feel safe, then that’s the least I can give her.

“Please don’t,” I say. “I’m rather attached to it, and I think you are, too.”

“Don’t do that,” she snaps.

“Do what?”

“Try to charm your way out of this.”

“What can I do to make you feel safe?” I ask. It’s an offer I wouldn’t extend to anyone else.

“Safe? Are you insane?”

“I think you know I wouldn’t hurt you,” I say, edging closer until I’m standing before her.

“Yet you broke into my home, and watched me while I slept,” she rightfully points out, though surprisingly doesn’t mention the murders. “What else did you do while I was vulnerable?”

Her fingers tighten around the handle of the knife, and yet her pupils are blown wide, her cheeks are flush, and her chest is heaving. Despite everything, she’s fighting the connection between us, and if I’m reading her correctly, she’s not as upset by my intrusion as she’s trying to convince herself she is.

“Technically, I didn’t break in. You left your window open,” I say, reaching for her hand holding the knife. My fingers gently brush against her skin as I cup her wrist.

“Semantics,” she mutters, as I raise her hand and press the blade of the knife against my throat.

She doesn’t try to remove it when I release my hold. Good.

“If I’m being brutally honest, I wanted to do far more than I did.”

“Then why didn’t you?” she asks, her gaze flicking to the knife.