Page 169 of The Ruthless Note

I’m burning up.

And the fact that he seems so unmoved is bothering me.

“Shut up and get on with it, Dutch.” Sweat is rolling down my neck and back, sticking to my T-shirt. There’s an ache between my legs that’s getting worse the more he touches my face. I can’t quite catch my breath.

And yet he’s talking about vocabulary words?

His finger grazes my shoulder and I shiver. “Enthralled,” he whispers, his breath teasing my lips. “It’s what I’ve felt since the moment I saw you behind your piano.”

Dutch drops his mouth to my shoulder, a burning coal flickering out of the fire. His lips singe me even more, making me tremble with desperate, throbbing need.

It’s agony, how much I want him.

I’m going to make you beg for it.

His promise snaps through my memory.

Punishment.

This is a punishment.

A hot zing of fire courses through me when he slides his fingers over my neck and I wonder if I should just give in and beg now.

“You asked me why it had to be you,” Dutch says quietly. “That’s my answer.”

I gasp out loud, all warmed-up and desperate. Am I as much of a monster as Dutch is? I’m half-naked, on my kitchen table, electricity skittering up my skin, melting for the prince who tormented me for weeks.

The room is getting so hot that it’s stifling. And he hasn’t done anything more than stroke my face with his fingers and whisper how he finds me enthralling.

My chest rises and falls on a sharp breath. My eyes lift back to meet his.

I must be crazy.

Or maybe growing up too fast made something short-circuit in my brain. Maybe I’ve held myself back for so long that I’m breaking down in bigger and more dangerous ways than a normal teenager would.

“Am I supposed to take your word for it?” I snap.

One corner of his lips hitches up. “Do you know that I bought flowers the morning of the fire?”

“Why?” I bite out.

“I wanted to give them to you.” His fingers slide down my waist and grip my thighs. He jerks me so my legs are hanging off the table and then steps between them. “I’ve never bought flowers for a girl. Ever.”

I stare into his eyes and see that he’s telling the truth.

“You want me to think I’m special? That this is more than you trying to tear me down?” I whisper harshly.

“I don’t care what you believe. It won’t change what you are.”

“And what is that? A scholarship kid? A servant? An enemy?”

His eyes darken and he breathes out, “Mine.”

He kisses me then. A firm, sealing kind of kiss as if he’s putting his stamp on a marriage certificate. Then he pulls away from me, just enough to make our breaths mingle.

“Is your sister coming home?” he asks, his slightly breathy tone the only indication that he’s losing control.

I shake my head, unable to speak.