Page 7 of Carved Obsession (The Sanctum Syndicate #4)

His answer is the infinitesimal narrowing of his eyes and slight tilt of his head.

I shake my head slowly, rolling my eyes.

“I didn’t lie that night just to make a good impression.

It sounded like you had an important job to do, and I wasn’t about to be in your way.

I still won’t. If you think I give a crap about the death of some piece of shit child trafficker, then your research on me is incomplete, sir. ”

There it is again, that tiny twitch in his eyes, widening ever so slightly at my choice of words. It’s a tinge of surprise, maybe.

Or maybe I’m just seeing what I want.

What my fantasies have conjured up in the last few months

“Why should I believe you?” He takes a step forward into my space.

My spine snaps tight. The proximity is electrifying. Every hair on my body rises, and every nerve ending urges me to run the fuck away.

I take half a step back. Not because of the fear. At least, not only that, but the sizzling static between us.

“Have I given you any reason to mistrust me? Have the police knocked at your door? Have the papers written about you?”

“The absence of proof is not proof, Miss Brasa-Glass. Maybe the police are building a case as we speak.”

“You’re an intelligent man. Do you truly believe that?”

“I wouldn’t be an intelligent man if I didn’t consider it.” He steps closer, once again reducing the distance separating us.

Is he really planning to kill me? No way. I didn’t give him away. Didn’t interfere. I’ll be fucking offended if he actually tries.

“Fine. Consider it. Look into it. Put me under a lie detector test if it will make you feel better.”

A second is all it takes. He grabs me and pushes me into the little alcove away from the shop’s front window. My back slams against the wall as his body lines up with mine, trapping my wrists in one hand above my head. His free hand presses something smooth against my throat.

Quick, staggered breaths push my heaving chest against his, and our lips part in stunned silence. The temperature in the space soars.

His only answer is a grueling shake of his head, his peculiar hazel gaze fixed on my utterly boring eyes.

I frown when the smooth object shifts against my throat, bringing a slight pressure.

Oh, hell no! That’s a fucking knife.

Is this bastard actually planning on murdering me in the middle of the day? In my family’s jewelry shop? There are freaking cameras everywhere.

A fleeting snag pulls at my skin, as if the air itself caught on it, and I frown.

“Did you just nick me?”

He cocks his head and looks at my throat. Then the bastard smiles. “You thought you got away.”

“I wasn’t hiding. You simply didn’t find me,” I reply, ignoring my nerves running rampant on the inside.

His brows knit together, and I know I hit a sensitive spot. I insulted his abilities.

“This is not a game. In the real world, bad men win every time, and I can’t leave any loose ends.”

I could fight back. I have enough training to hold my own, and in the last few months, while working to get my divorce finalized, I’ve been focusing all my rage on even more workouts.

But at this moment, I don’t want to be in control.

I want to see how it plays out. The adrenaline junkie inside me yearns to see how close to death he can lead me.

“Go on, then. Fucking kill me. But I promise you this, I’ll crawl out of my shallow grave and haunt you. Your sanity will be my fucking prize.” I’m clearly done with politeness. It’s not my style anyway.

A shimmer brightens his gaze, the slight curve of one of his brows showing something far from anger. If only I had time to dwell and analyze. Instead, I jerk against him, itching to fight back.

But he presses harder against me, and when my right leg slips to the side, one of his slides right between mine.

My eyes bulge, and self-preservation kicks in at the pressure felt in the most inappropriate spot, considering the situation. I struggle against him, trying to shove him away, but that only increases the pressure from his taut body. From that strong thigh settled too high between mine.

Surely, he must know what he’s doing.

I bite the inside of my lip, holding my breath as I fight an almost uncontrollable urge burning through my lungs.

He squeezes my wrists tighter, the side of the blade bearing down on my throat, and my body thrums under his intense gaze, his intoxicating scent, his unbearable proximity, and I finally expel that breath I was forcing down.

And it comes out exactly as I hoped it wouldn’t...like a lustful mewl.

A charged, breathy moan that for one split second made the unquenchable abyss of his eyes sparkle. Fucking sparkle.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

He needs to either kill me already or move the fuck away. His thigh against my core, the knife at my throat, my wrists in his tight hold...it may scream assassination to him, but fuck if it doesn’t spell explosive orgasm to me.

No, Scarlet, I think it spells insanity.

I’m powerless to stop him when that powerful muscle twitches beneath me, adding a tiny bit more pressure. The moan might have betrayed me, but I really hope my pussy isn’t drenching his thigh right now.

“Who’s stalling now?” I challenge, like I actually have a death wish.

I don’t. And I don’t think he’s going to kill me.

“Fine.” Like a sudden summer storm, his gaze darkens with cold fury.

My eyes widen. The seconds stretch as his elbow rises higher. The blade against my throat shifts and turns. Slight, sweeping pressure trails across my throat, and like the fucking cry of angels themselves, the front doorbell tinkles.

He stiffens as two people cheerfully talk among themselves, walking into the shop. His full lips straighten, nostrils flaring as his arms drop. He allows one second longer before he steps away and to the side, tucking the blade away inside his waistcoat.

Saved by the bell.

I’m shocked I had to be saved. I thought that keeping quiet about his nightly affairs would earn me some brownie points. That we had a fucking connection.

I’m fucking hurt!

He speaks no words as he steps out of the alcove’s shadows and back into the sunlight washing over the store. He takes one final look at me, then moves to leave.

I walk out as well, but I don’t follow him. Watching him leave feels like the beginning of a story, not the end. And considering he just tried to kill me, I’m going to make this story entertaining as hell.

He pulls the door open, stops, then turns just enough for his gaze to snag on me. “See you soon, Miss Brasa-Glass.”

I grin, embers of fury igniting in my soul at his nerve. “Goodbye...Mr. Pierce.”