My breath caught in my lungs. “My intention was never to sleep with you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You want me. I saw it in your eyes the moment we met.”

Anger siphoned through my veins. “The moment we met, you pulled a blindfold off me in the middle of death and battle. Sex was far from my mind.”

He shook his head. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

Despite myself, the memory of his hands on my hips and the intensity between us as he stripped me at the compound came back.

Heat flooded my core.

Fear came thick and fast.

What if I’m married? Or already spoken for? Who would I betray if I allowed this… this angry, damaged stranger to twist my intentions?

I didn’t know if I was on protection or my sexual experience.

I know nothing.

Tears prickled again and for some inexplicable reason Kill let me go.

I scurried away, climbing to my feet. I couldn’t stop my eyes from locking onto the erection between his thighs.

He smirked but it was sad, hiding something I couldn’t understand. “You won’t ever hear me say this again, so listen closely.”

I paused.

He swallowed as if it physically pained him to voice the two words that should be second nature. “Thank you,” he snapped. “Thank you for not killing me and running. Thank you for stitching me up.” Taking a deep breath, he pushed upright and climbed unsteadily to his feet. He swayed, grabbing hold of the office chair as he lurched forward.

I moved to catch him. “You shouldn’t be standing. Not yet.”

He shook his head. “I’m not going to spend the night on the floor of my fucking office.”

“I brought you a blanket. I can make you comfortable.”

He shook his head, his forehead furrowed. “No chance.”

Grabbing me, he draped an arm round my shoulders, using me as a crutch. “Take me to bed, Forgetful Girl. I’m ready to pass out and put this day to fucking rest.”

Chapter Six

I’d been spoon-fed lies all my life. I’d become a master at smelling untruths. And the woman currently residing in my home—the woman who’d healed me—smelled terrifyingly toxic. A scent that made me want to run with one heartbeat and then fuck her with the next.

She made me face things I was no longer strong enough to face.

She made me look past her scam and crave.

—Kill

“No. Don’t!”

“ ‘No’ isn’t a word in my vocabulary, little one.”

“But you’re supposed to be—”

“I’m not supposed to be anything. Especially a fucking babysitter to a traitor.”

The smell of smoke crept over my senses like a drug—a horrible, debilitating drug that doused me in white-hot terror. Fear I’d never comprehended squeezed my heart until I couldn’t breathe. It clogged my lungs until I gasped for help.

Then the crackle and singe of burning furniture roared into being so loud—so scarily loud.

“Help!”

A cold cackle of laughter was the only help I received. “Burn, baby girl. Burn.”

I was wrenched awake by large hands tearing me from sleep, dumping me into a reality I’d rather not face. A reality that I had no tether to.

“Christ’s sake, woman.” Kill bowed over me, his green eyes diving into mine. “Stop screaming.”

Him.

Green eyes of my lover.

Green eyes of my murderer.

The past clawed at me, dragging me back into smoke and flames and pain.

I screamed. The floodgates of my tears and fears and strain of the past hours faltered, spewing forth everything in a loud wail.

I sobbed.

I cried.

I came utterly apart.

And I did it alone.

I was an oasis of grief as Arthur Killian stood livid beside my bed. Flickers of yesterday came back, fluttering around me like memory snowflakes.

Kidnapped.

The threat of being sold.

Stitching him up.

The relief of finally having a shower and sinking into a soft, warm bed.

“For God’s sake, stop.” Kill shook his head. “Quit it, or I’ll have to fucking gag you.”

I stopped instantly. My tears dried up as if they never existed, and the raggedness of my breathing receded.

He sighed heavily. “Much better.” His beautiful green eyes were bloodshot and tired but his face had a healthy glow and his jaw-length hair was swept back off his face. His black T-shirt hid my handiwork, but he kept his right arm protectively shielded by his body.

I glanced behind him, taking in the room I’d slept in. The white walls, sheer drapes, and nondescript decorating could’ve been any hotel in any city around the world.

He locked me in here.

After a torturous climb up the stairs, he’d left me alone in this room, and turned the key. He’d let me care for him then locked me up like a prisoner.

Scooting higher beneath the blankets, I squinted through the warm glare of the sun cascading through the window. “You should really wear a sling until the muscles aren’t so sore.” I pointed at his stiff arm. “You don’t want to rupture the stitches.”

He backed away from the bed. “You’re not my nurse any longer. Get up. We have business to attend to.”

“Business?”

He nodded. “You might’ve bought yourself some time by making me be… ah yes, that word I hate… grateful, but I have people to deal with, things to organize.” Grabbing the covers, he tried to yank them off me, but I curled into them and didn’t let go.