Page 22 of On Edge

“If I don’t? Are you…going to hurt me, too?”

I round on her, wrapping my hand around her delicate throat, an echo of last night.

“Don’t tempt me,Sage. I’m not a nice guy.” The venom is on my lips as I say her name. My cock strains at the thought of using her sweet mouth in other ways, to prove that I’m not.

I shouldn’t have kissed her.

Some small part of me might have felt sorry for her, but that part of me is long gone.

Especially when she looks up at me, not shying away, not trying to break free. It’s like she’s daring me to lose control. I desperately want to force her back onto this chair, tear that pretty dress from that divine body I know she has, and fuck that petulant mouth until she’s screaming my name.

I want to make her feel what I feel.

Regret.

My hand tightens, crushing her slowly. Her cheeks flush as she stands there, practically shaking, her eyes alight with something fiery, something…I once admired in Nell. But she also looks at me like I’ve already slit her throat, and she can’t quite believe that I’ve done it. It’s a look I crave, and she’s giving it to me on a plate.

Good. I’ve finally got through to her.

But then that necklace looped around her delicate throat shifts under my palm, and the dark bruises from last night, blooming under my thumbs, seem harsher in the light.

Abruptly, I let her go as though she’s a hot brand.

She gasps.

And before I can say anything, she drops her gaze, looking anywhere but at me, burning shame into my dark, rotten soul. And she mutters, so quietly that I almost don’t hear it, “I’ll leave tonight.”

“You bloody do that.”

This is what I’ve become—a goddam bully.

“Good.” Turning away from her, I head to my office, my palms suddenly itching like crazy. I clench my fists shut to stop it. I should be relieved that she’s going to be off my island in a matter of hours.

But I’m just…irritated.

Why the hell did I kiss her?

I never wanted her here. Richard’s been trying to push his damned daughter on me ever since he found out how much I wanted Grayfleet. And now I know that Nell was a Lovett too.And that she’s dead. Any reminder of her needs to be gone.

“Asshole.” Her one word is a broken sob, burning through my rage so much so that I have to stop and look at her.

But she’s already dashing out, stopping at the door to toss my sweater at me. It lands at my feet, and then she slams the door so hard that a few of the precariously placed books on the shelves topple over.

After a minute, I pick up the fallen sweater. It’s warm and smells of her, or rather, her perfume.

Lavender.

I usually can’t stand the stuff old women keep in their drawers or brides tuck into bouquets. But this is sharp and wild, like bruised flowers crushed under boot leather and dashed with rain. It smells like Nell did. Pretty and passionate, but also laced with poison. I try not to breathe it in too deeply, but it clings to my damn cashmere—a dark reminder I don’t bloody well need.

My office door is open when I get there.

Of course, Sage Lovett admitted she was in here.

How did she get in? The lock was engaged when I left. Unless Mundel...I breathe in the stinks of his cigars. He must have been in here earlier, forgot to lock up on his way out, and left the office in a mess with papers strewn everywhere.

That man, I swear, he’s getting sloppier. I need to handle him before he becomes a problem.

Once inside, I close the door and then sit behind my desk. I glance at the clutter of papers, wondering what she’s touched, looked at, and if she took anything.