Page 40 of The Right Wrong Promise

Then it fades as she squares her shoulders, trying to project calm.

Goddamn, she’s gorgeous in the deadliest ways.

All pouty lips. Softly appealing without any artificial puff.

I’m pretty sure she’s all natural, despite the salon highlights in her hair.

Her leggings cling to every line of her long, trim legs. The oversized tee over the top gives her a casual look today.

Plain and relaxed, but the way she wears her clothes makes them look like they were designed just for her.

“Miss Blackthorn,” I say her name like a gunshot.

Her eyes flare as they meet mine.

Sparks.

A second later, she’s bolting, stepping away from the wall with her hands in the air before she tucks them behind her back.

But it’s too late to play it cool, and I think she knows it.

“Shit!” She looks away for the first time. “I’m sorry. I thought you were still downstairs.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Yeah? Because that makes it okay to go pawing through my room?”

The hellfire red on her cheeks returns and deepens, extending down her neck until it lines her chest.

I can’t tell if she’s flushed from sheer irritation at having been caught or genuine embarrassment.

Hot anger boils my lungs.

Sure, she let us crash here, but that doesn’t mean we can trust her, and it damn sure doesn’t give her the right to go rifling through my room.

“No,” she says quietly. “Of course not. But I wasn’t going through your stuff!”

“Then explain. What the fuck are you doing in my bedroom?”

“Right, I—” She gestures uselessly at the wall. “So, I know this looks bad—”

“You’re damn right. So does my patience.” I step closer, and she eyes the space between us warily. “Tell me what was so important you just had to invade my privacy, duchess.”

She stops and stares at me.

Fuck it, I know. I’m erupting and I’m past caring.

“I’m sorry!” she sputters. “But do we have to do the name-calling? No one’s called me that since middle school.”

Not an answer. Also, no sympathy.

The stubbornness on her face doesn’t weaken my resolve.

“Kane, I didn’t go through your things. Honest. I never touched a single drawer or your bags.”

My eyes scan every corner, cold and assessing.

At a glance, she might be telling the truth.

I haven’t had time to unpack much and make the space too personal yet, and my bags are right where I left them.