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Arrogantly, she'd assumed he spent the last six months
alone. She didn't know why—the man had never made it
habit to be alone before her, why would he after? Still,
witnessing reality knifed pain through her already bleeding
heart.
"Miranda." Cian took her by the elbow, guiding her into the
hall. He closed the door behind her and leaned against the
wall, arms folded over his chest. "Good morning."
"I've had better." She pushed a lock of her hair out of her
eyes, embarrassed by the shaking of her hand. "I want my
manuscript, Cian."
His handsome features pulled into a grim expression, the
lines around his mouth hardened. He shook his head. "I can't
give it back to you yet." He inclined his head toward the
kitchen. "Why don't you come in and talk for a bit."
It wasn't a question, and the harsh, decisive tone wedged
beneath Miranda's skin like someone had shoved iron filings
under her nails. All the tumultuous emotion she'd experienced
since waking bottlenecked, then exploded in an angry rush of
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words. "Talk? You think I give a damn about what you have
to say? The hell you can't give it to me. It's mine, and I'm not
leaving without it!"
"Miranda, calm down. Let me explain."
"Explain?" Her voice shot through the hall, shrill and
outraged. "Explain what? How much you missed me? How
you need me? Not interested." Spying the manila folder she'd
put the papers in atop his coffee table, Miranda stalked past
Cian, into the living room. She snatched the folder up
furiously, then whirled around to point the ancient writings at
his chest. "Stay out of my shop. Stay out of my life."
His gaze flickered, and for the briefest moment, Miranda
thought she witnessed regret behind his unblinking stare. But
in the next heartbeat, anger lit, and those bright green eyes
glittered dangerously.
What the hell did he have to be angry about? She was the
one he'd seduced. Lied to. Manipulated.
Abandoned.
Twice.
"I can't let you take that, Miranda." He approached her
slowly, much like a cat stalking its prey. His eyes remained
glued to her face, but she sensed he meant to take the
papers out of her hand. His deliberate steps, the tightness of
his body warned he would pounce and tackle if she tried to
run for the door.
She backed up a step.
"I'll give it back to you, but I need it for the next few
days." Inches away from her now, he held out his hand for
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the folder. "Let me borrow it. I'll return it unharmed. Trust
me."
Miranda couldn't stop a derisive snort from breaking free.
"Trust you—right. We see where that's gotten me. Fucked,
that's where."
"Miranda, if you'd give me five minutes—"
"I need more than five minutes, Cian." Twisting her
shoulders, she made to duck around his powerful frame. This
was over. The conversation was rapidly degenerating into a
useless argument that would accomplish nothing. She needed
to get out of here while she still could. Before she lost her
courage and took a good look at the pained creases around
the corners of his eyes.
Cian grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her to a stop.
Firmly, he turned her around. With one step forward, he
pinned her between the wall and his hard chest. "Yeah, you
do," he answered hoarsely. "You need a hell of a lot more
than five minutes."
Danger! She couldn't think this close to him. Could barely
focus enough to breathe. And somewhere in that argument,
they'd changed course. His hungry expression had nothing to
do with explanations. Damn if it wasn't affecting her too. The
heat from his body radiated into her, shaking her foundation,
mixing up her convictions until she felt like she'd been stuffed
inside a blender and someone pushed HIGH.
"Cian, stop," she whispered as she flattened a palm
against his chest and pushed. "I'm not doing this. Your
girlfriend's in the kitchen, and I'm leaving. My writings stay
with me."
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He ignored her completely. One hand dropped to her wrist,
securing it between their bodies. The other worked the folder
free from her fingers and dropped it at their feet. Then he
gathered both wrists, and before she could do anything more
than gasp in shock, he stretched her arms above her head
and held her wrists to the wall. His head dipped. Morning
stubble rasped against her skin near the base of her ear.
"She's my sister," he murmured before his tongue flicked
out to tease her earlobe.
A shudder rolled through Miranda from neck to toes. With
it came a low moan of pleasure. She didn't know which
sensation to focus on—the confession the redhead was family,
or the exquisite feel of his warm, moist breath dancing down
her throat. The conflicted voices in her head screamed in
equal measure, one demanding she stop this nonsense, the
other urging her to shut up and take what Cian so obviously
had to give.
At the base of her throat, his teeth pricked the tender
flesh. The pinch of pleasure-pain shot all the way to her
womb, turning her insides into melted honey. Miranda's knees
threatened to give out. Would have, if Cian hadn't pressed his
lower body into hers, stabilizing her against the wall, and
exposing her to the undeniable evidence of his arousal. Hard
and thick, his cock pressed into her soft feminine flesh.
"I left," he whispered as he scattered kisses across her
breastbone to the opposite side of her neck, "to protect you.
From me." With his nose, he nudged the loose collar of her
sweater aside and grazed his teeth across her bra strap,
tugging it playfully. "From the things I want from you."
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She didn't want to ask. Couldn't be certain his answer
wouldn't break her completely. But the question rose against
her will and tumbled free. "What do you want from me?"
Cian's head snapped up, his green eyes blazing like bright
gemstones. One slow roll of his body caressed her from thighs
to breasts, igniting her own insatiable hunger.
"Everything, Miranda." His voice was harsh, edged with a
touch of warning.
God help her she shouldn't be excited over what sounded
like a threat. But nothing could have stopped the frantic kick
of her heart or the desire that cut a live current through her
bloodstream. Everything was precisely what she wanted to
give.
She exhaled tremulously. The sound hung between them,
a suspended echo that confessed her surrender.
Cian's mouth hovered over hers, his lips a breath away,
close enough she could feel their heat. It enticed her beyond
reason. His kiss...she needed his mouth on her. She tipped
her head back, her lips parting, a plea on the tip of her
tongue.
"If those papers stay with you, then I'll have to convince
you to stay."
Cian couldn't explain why he had Miranda trapped against
the wall any more than he could explain how he had come to
the conclusion he had to tell her why he needed the
manuscript. Both ideas were equally ludicrous. Presently,
however, he didn't give a damn. Miranda had stepped into his
house, his domain, and the darkness had surged beyond his
control. The only way he knew to contain it was to use its
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power against the demonic callings. Kill her, no. Screw her
senseless—yes.
No. Not screw, his rational side argued. That was for
women he didn't intend to keep around. Miranda deserved
more. Further, he wanted more from her than just those
damn papers. He'd meant it when he said everything. That [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]