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“Who do you think I am, Clay?” She pushes toward me. “Some weak woman who’d smile when you lock her in a cage and put a collar on her neck?” She shakes her head. “Before you stomped into my life and forced me into a corner, I had my own dreams. I had my own business. My own kingdom. I am still that woman, but you don’t see her. To you, I’m just a puppet that dances when you want to be entertained.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“The only thing Iknowis that you deliberately kept me captive.”
My mouth opens, but I’m so shocked that no sound comes out.
“Have you everoncethought that I deserved to have achoice?” Her voice climbs. Loud. Punishing. “No! Because it always has to go exactly the way you want. And if it doesn’t, you’re willing to remove every option, every exit, until there’s only one path left.” Her eyes flash. “The path that leads to you.”
“Island—”
“You need control. You need to be in charge and damn anyone who doesn’t fall in line.”
“Is that really what you think of me?” My voice booms through the room. I step threateningly toward her.
She moves into me, fingers tightening around my tie. Fearless. Twisted.
Who’s the one in control here?
“Yes,” she hisses. Her breath whispers across my lips. Her hips roll against mine, seeking me out like that night on the couch.
I stifle a groan of need.
“That’sexactlywhat I think of you.” Her words push me away, but the hand around my tie yanks me down.
I stop an inch from her mouth, searching her eyes.
The desire is there. It’s dripping from her gaze. Building in every harsh inhale that fills her chest as it brushes against mine.
Sparks meant to turn into flames.
So easily.
I can take her. Even now. I know she wouldn’t deny me.
My body tenses.
Blood rushes in my chest and flows downward.
If I step any closer, if I inhale her sweet scent, it won’t matter that she’s shoving a knife in my chest. It won’t matter that there’s a crowd outside that she has to get back to. It won’t matter that she shouldn’t ruin her dress.
I’d bunch her skirt around her waist, rip her panties apart and pin her against the wall. I’d have her screaming, arms sliding around my neck as I claimed what’s mine.
Mine.
She belongs to me.
But isn’t that what she’s accusing me of? Controlling? Dominating? Manipulating?
I grit my teeth.
My pants are strained.
There is no part of my body that agrees with exercising self-restraint.
I lean down because I need to be close to her. I stare her right in the eyes. Bare it all. The darkness. The pain. The need for her.
Even with this knife sticking out of my chest, I would still die for her.