My cock twitched as she spun to face me, her hands flying to her hips. She seemed out of place in the rotund room with its six windows, lush Chinese sewn carpet, and treasure trove of small lead figurines from Indian and Cowboy child play-sets.
The wealth of history and monetary value of the things in this room would make a museum weep.
“What are we doing in here?”
I stalked to my desk. Unlocking a secret drawer beneath the jumble of stationery, I pulled forth a drafted document that no one else knew about but me. There were no cameras in this room. No one spying on what I was about to do.
Just us.
Only we would know what we’d done.
“Come here,” I said, snapping my fingers.
Nila narrowed her eyes. “You do that often.”
“Do what?”
She snapped her fingers. “Summon me like your pet; like your dogs.”
I placed both hands flat on the desk. “You are my pet. I thought we’d discussed that.”
She stomped forward, a conundrum of bright temper in the drab world of my study. Her sandaled feet padded on the thick carpet, planting herself in front of my desk. Her head tilted, long hair cascading over her shoulder, completely free and glossy as the midnight sky. “Funny, I thought we’d established I was something more.”
My back stiffened. “Since when?”
Her lips stretched, baring her teeth in an evil little grin. “Since I made you come. Since you showed me you were human. Since you ran from me for the past fortnight, all because you’re not dealing with whatever is going on between us.”
She moved closer.
I stood ramrod straight, clenching every muscle against her advance.
“Tell me, Jethro Hawk. Would a pet be able to suck you? Would a pet swallow your cum? Would a pet pleasure you?” Her voice dropped to a seduction. “Would a pet admit to missing its owner, because it’d become addicted to the desire it felt in its master’s presence?”
My mind exploded.
I swallowed hard, hating the swirl of lust and temper that had no right to build. I’d barricaded emotions from my life, so why did the mere hint of an argument with Nila completely undo everything I’d tried so hard to fix?
I couldn’t breathe.
Needing a distraction, I pulled her phone that I’d confiscated from my pocket and held it up.
Instantly, her mouth fell open. Greed and excitement glowed on her face. “You still have it.”
“Of course, I still have it.” Swiping my finger over the screen, I muttered, “There are some extremely interesting messages on here.”
Nila froze. Her cheeks lost all colour. “I told you that I’d been in touch with my brother. I told you he knew.”
I nodded. “You did.”
She tried to hide her nervousness but didn’t succeed. “So what’s interesting? I told you the truth.”
What was interesting?
How about the fucking messages reeking of smut and combustible need? I’d spent many an evening sorting through the unsent drafts to Kite007. She’d deleted more messages than she’d actually sent, hiding so much.
By reading the messages she didn’t want seen, I saw right into her soul. I finally got a clue of who Nila Weaver was. And she was no longer the heartbreakingly timid woman who’d been a plaything for her brother and a slave for her father.
She was so, so much more.
Every draft she’d typed but never sent rested in her phone like a perfect calendar of her growth from naïve daughter to fierce opponent.
Every single message she’d typed to him—to the man she knew as Kite—further showed the truth of who she really was.
Her emails had been nothing but work related.
Her brother nothing but demanding and dominant.
Her father nothing but pleading and clinging.
But Kite…
He brought out the best in Nila. And I brought out the fucking worst.
I shook my head, unable to stop the chuckle breaking through my lips. Why hadn’t I seen it? Why hadn’t I understood it before now? I was a fucking idiot.
Nila crossed her arms, glaring pure death. “Are you done laughing at my personal life?”
I stopped chuckling, embracing vacancy once again. “What makes you think I’m laughing at you, Ms. Weaver?”
The moment I spoke her name, the fight, the intoxicating addictive need to battle with her broke free from the prison inside.
Goddammit, it seemed the only time I could be free was to stay away from her. But the only time I was alive was to provoke and drink in her kitten-like wrath like an elixir of life.
Fuck, I’m screwed.
For the first time, I acknowledged it. Not with hatred or fear or frustration—just accepted that Nila Weaver was a force I couldn’t control, and as much as I would like to deny it, she had a power over me.
Jasmine had seen it.
That was what my sister meant.
But I’d been too much of an arsehole to listen.
Tomorrow, you’re going back to your sister and talking this through.
I needed answers. And she was the only one who I trusted enough to give me unbiased, pure direction. We were the black sheep of the Hawk family, and for that one reason, we’d become close. Kes was my best friend—until recently, of course—but my sister was my rescuer.
Not that my father knew, or even my grandmother, who kept Jasmine far away from us men and our contamination.
No one knew the bond my sister and I shared.
Just like no one knew the bond Nila and I shared.
Both were secret.
And both meant more to me than any other relationship I’d ever had.
Shit.
Running a hand through my hair, I placed her phone on my desk.
Nila never took her gaze from the device. “You seem to laugh at everything I do, so it’s only rational to think my messages entertained you to no end.”
I had to do what I came in here to do before I lost all focus and allowed Nila to drag forth everything I’d worked so hard to swallow.
I murmured, “You’re tempting destruction, Ms. Weaver.” My breathing turned shallow as I moved around the desk and captured the ends of her long hair, twirling them around my fingertips.
There was something about her hair. Something that called to the feral part of me that wanted the strands on my cock as she sucked me, or better yet, stuck to my sweaty chest after I’d come deep inside her.
Those fantasies had not helped clear my head. The past fortnight, they’d only gotten worse. And I refused to fucking service myself. However, I couldn’t stomach the thought of calling in a substitute.