Page 24 of Doomed

His hands tighten on my hips, pulling me more firmly against him. “Feel that? That’s all for you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the heat spreading through my body. This is wrong. He’s wrong for me. Knox Blackwood is everything I should run from—dangerous, arrogant, a criminal. Yet I want him with an intensity that terrifies me. The desire pulses through my veins, drowning out reason and caution.

I want his hands on my skin. I want his mouth on mine. I want him to back me against this table and prove to me that he can live up to all his cocky promises.

God, what is wrong with me? He’s an absolute asshole—manipulative, boundary-crossing, infuriating.

I want him anyway.

“Don’t,” I whisper, but there’s no conviction in my voice. I lean into his touch instead of pulling away.

“Don’t what?” Knox’s breath is hot against my ear. “Don’t do this?” His lips brush the sensitive skin below my earlobe. “Or this?” His teeth graze my neck, sending shockwaves down my spine.

I twist in his arms, intending to push him away, but instead find myself facing him, my hands pressed against his chest. His heartbeat thunders beneath my palm.

“I hate you,” I breathe, but the words lack venom.

Knox’s eyes darken. “No, you don’t.” His hand cups my face, thumb brushing over my lower lip. “You hate how much you want me.”

Something snaps inside me. Maybe it’s frustration, maybe it’s surrender. I grab his shirt and pull him toward me, crashing my lips against his.

The kiss is nothing like I imagined—it’s better. His mouth is hot and demanding against mine, tongue sliding past my lips to taste me. I respond with equal fervor, pouring every ounce of my frustration and desire into the kiss.

Knox groans against my mouth, backing me against the worktable. Paint tubes scatter to the floor as he lifts me onto the surface, stepping between my thighs. His hands tangle in my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss.

I bite his lower lip hard enough to sting, and he pulls back with a surprised laugh.

“Still fighting me, Hayes?” His voice is rough, eyes blazing with heat.

“Always,” I promise, dragging him back to me.

Our mouths collide again, the kiss turning into a battle neither of us intends to lose. His hands roam my body possessively while mine explore the hard planes of his chest. I hate how right this feels, hate how good it seems to be in his arms.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. Knox rests his forehead against mine, his lips curved in a satisfied smile. I want to slap it off his face—or kiss it away. Maybe both. He’s still an arrogant asshole, though.

The door to the studio swings open with a bang.

“Bianca? Do you need any—oh?”

Elliot stands in the doorway, his expression shifting from concerned to surprised as he takes in our position—Knox’s hand on my face, our bodies pressed together, lips a breath apart.

Knox doesn’t startle or jump away. Instead, he slowly, deliberately releases me, his fingers trailing down my neck ashe steps back. The loss of his heat leaves me disoriented, like stepping from a sauna into winter air.

“Everything’s fine, Elliot,” Knox says, his voice rough. “Just discussing some creative direction for the piece.”

I struggle to catch my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. My face burns with a mixture of desire and embarrassment. What must Elliot think, walking in on us like this?

“I was just leaving anyway,” Knox continues, maintaining eye contact with Elliot a beat longer than necessary—some unspoken male communication passing between them. He turns to me, his eyes still dark with intention. “We’ll continue this conversation later, Hayes.”

The promise in his words sends another unwelcome shiver down my spine.

Knox saunters toward the door, pausing briefly beside Elliot. He claps a hand on the gallery owner’s shoulder before disappearing into the main gallery space.

I bend down to retrieve my fallen paintbrush, grateful for the moment to compose myself.

“Are you alright?” Elliot asks.

“Fine,” I manage, turning back to my canvas.