Page 54 of House Rules

“We need to get you a weapon. You and I are going to spend a lot of time together this year, and I’m going to show you how to protect yourself.” He turns me around in his arm so my back is pressed against his chest, and he holds the blade out in frontof me, the tip of the knife pointed straight at the floor.

“Take the blade.”

“I don’t—” I really don’t want to take the blade.

“I’m not going to have you cut anything. I just want you to feel it, get an idea of the balance and the weight of it.”

I nod and reach out, placing my hands just beneath his on the handle.

“Good, but you want to hold it just a little further down.” He adjusts my grip and then tightens his hand over mine. He guides my arm back and forth, tilting the blade this way and that so I can get a feel for how it cuts through the air.

It should terrify me—how easily it moves, how quickly I adapt. But it doesn’t. It feels good. Natural. Like it belongs in my hand. Maybe that’s the scariest part.

It’s so smooth, but it’s also so hard to focus on how it feels to wield the knife with his body pressed against my mine the way it is. He smells like spicy pink peppercorns and something silky and vanillaunder it. It’s addictive. Everything about him is addictive.

“You’ve got to find your family, sweet angel. Most people will tell you they love you, they will show affection just to get you to let your guard down, and then?—”

“They will use that affection against you,” I interrupt him. “Anytime someone says they love you, it’s because they want something from you. They want to take from you. All they do is demand your attention, affection, your money, your body…anything they can take. They only want you to feel obligated to give and give until there is nothing left, and then they will leave you empty and broken.”

Something about moving the blade in and out of the air, twisting and turning it with each swipe, makes the anger and resentment I’ve felt toward my mother and my father and every other man in my life bubble to the surface.

“You’re angry,” he whispers into my ear. “You should be.”

“How do I let go of the anger?” I ask. I need to know that my entire life will not feel like this.

“Why would you let go of something so damn useful?” The way he purrs those words into my ear sends liquid desire straight to my core. His lips brush the outer shell of my ear as his hand wraps around my waist, holding me tighter to him.

I drop the knife, and he pulls me away from the blade as it tumbles to the floor.

“Careful, sweet angel. That blade is wicked sharp,” he says, giving me a hungry look that makes my breath stall and my lips part. I wonder if he tastes as good as he smells. Is his kiss as dangerous as everything else about him?

I know I should run from the dark web of seduction he’s weaving…but I can’t. I don’t want to.

Storm reaches out and cups my chin, running his thumb over my lips, for all the world like he means to lean in and kiss me.

Instead, he rolls his eyes.

“What do you want, Atticus?”

I jerk, my gaze flashing up to the top of the stairs, where Atticus stands.

“I’m here to steal away our little pet. She and I started a conversation earlier that we need to finish above deck.”

Storm shoots him an annoyed look but steps away from me, removing his warm hand from my face. I miss his touch more than I should.

“How about it, kitten? Fancy a drink?”

“Sure,” I say, giving Storm a wobbly smile as I follow Atticus up the stairs.

“What’s your drink of choice?”Atticus asks as I take a seat on the very top deck of the ship, where he has several large pillows laid out.

Storm leaves me raw and aching. Atticus appears like silk over a fresh wound—soothing, seductive, and just as dangerous.

“A free one,” I answer automatically.

“They’re all free,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Do you prefer gin, vodka, tequila, whiskey…what?”

“I don’t know. I usually just drink whatever is cheap and available. Kind of like Maverick and women.”