Page 61 of From Hell

The funeral a case in point.

The girls think I can seduce him into giving me information, but it always felt like Jaxon was seducing me. I mean, why did my stomach do a little swoop just now, like I was glad to see him?

Because it’s a traitor.

Suppressing all thoughts of Jaxon, deep down into the darkest parts of my soul, I hurry through the endless hallway. I don’t know where anything is, so I check all the rooms until I find one resembling what I imagine to be Henry’s bedroom—dark and masculine, with cherry wood furniture and black furnishings with hints of royal blue and imperial yellow decor. It’s easily the biggest bedroom in the house, with a super king bed on one side facing a massive TV on the other. There’s also a mirror on the ceiling—yuck.

I step inside cautiously and close the door. I’ve no idea what I’m looking for. Everything looks neat and in its place, except his desk, which has an overflowing, messy in-tray and a mound of scattered unopened mail. I start rifling through the paperwork on his desk.

“Why am I not surprised?” says a velvet-coated voice behind me after a few minutes of tax bills. I spin around.

Jaxon.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt out.

“Henry was my friend. This is his wake,” he says, raising a brow as he shuts the door with a soft click. “I’m meant to be here, unlike some. I should ask what you’re doing here. This part of the house isn’t open to guests.”

“Did you follow me?” I don’t understand why I’m still laboring the fact. If he was Henry’s friend, Jaxon has more right to be here than I do. “I saw you in the kitchen a second ago.”

Well done, Lainey. What a thing to say to make yourself look guilty as sin.

“I was, but I’m staying here to help his parents. Unfortunately for you, they gave me a direct feed to the security cameras, and I’ve been watching you for several minutes blunder your way through the house.” The corner of his mouth twitches as he stalks over to me. His eyes are dark with little warmth to them. He doesn’t look happy. “You’re snooping again where you shouldn’t be. What are you looking for this time?”

As he closes the gap between us, I take a few steps back until my calves press against the bed, every alarm bell in my body going off. “Would you believe me if I told you I got lost?”

“Lost,” he repeats, working his unreadable eyes over my body, the corners of his lips curving up, flashing teeth, reminding me of the big bad wolf. “You are a terrible liar.”

My brow furrows as I stare at him. “What a thing to say.” I go to step around him.

He blocks me, his eyes bottomless pits, unfathomable as they stare me down. “Where do you think you’re going?”

The barest wisps of panic flutter in my chest, but I give him my best defiant look. “To find the bathroom.”

“Not until you tell me what you were doing in here.”

“I told you. I got lost.” I step around him again, but he grips my arm, my injured one, and wrenches me back in front of him like a rag doll, iron-clad fingers of his other hand tightening around my throat.

“Wrong answer, little fox.”

Reacting, I shove my knee into his balls. He grunts, and I scramble onto the bed to escape, but rough hands seize my waist, hauling me down and spinning me around. He slams me on the mattress, looming over me, smile not so pretty anymore. “That wasn’t nice.”

He doesn’t sound like Jaxon. Not the man who brought me breakfast and cleaned up my injuries. This is the Jaxon who likes to scare and to hurt others. But with his weight wrapped over my body like an unexpected embrace, his closeness stealing my breath and sliding over my skin like a dense, hot oil. Even his cologne assaulting my senses. The suppressed rage and pent-up frustration for a decade hijacks every cell in my body with a need I can’t control.

Nor want to.

“You’re hurting me,” I lie. “I’ll scream.”

Jaxon’s eyes glitter in the darkness. “By all means. Henry soundproofed this room. No one will hear you. I’ll warn you, you might like that, and hearing you scream will turn me on,” he drawls.

His voice, like molten honey.

It drips over me, even though his grip on me is brutal and unforgiving, and I can feel him crushing my chest and hips. His hard length presses between my thighs and my ridden-up dress. Until there’s nothing between us but my cotton panties and his expensive cashmere trousers.

Excitement and deeper desires flood my insides against my will. I strain to get free, but he tightens his hold, leaving me breathless. And boneless.

My back arches…

His thumb swipes across my parted lips until I let him in, tasting the salt on his skin.