I practically jumped up and down in my seat next to Troy. He shook his head and ignored me for the most part, but occasionally, I’d glance sideways and catch him grinning to himself.

Something in him had cracked. I could feel it, and despite my best intentions to stay away, to protect myself, it stirred something in me. Did he feel it, too? Did he care?

In the elevator, I studied his face, drinking in his reaction. Searching, guessing…

“You care.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed.

Yeah, he definitely cared.

Even though I wasn’t tired, I danced my way upstairs and into the bedroom. Troy was left behind to get himself another whiskey and to lock the front door. He had a habit of checking all the rooms in the apartment, looking for God knows what before he went to bed every night. I’d heard him when I was pretending to be asleep.

I guess I, too, should have been worried about my safety, but everything about his security measurements pissed me off.

And especially Connor, my very own guard dog.

I felt Troy enter the bedroom, my back to him, a few minutes later. I was pulling my PJ’s out of my drawer, just about to go into the bathroom and change.

The thing about Troy was that he always walked into a room bringing the atmosphere he wanted to convey. Like a human thermostat, he not only controlled every situation, but also the mood you were in. Sometimes he brought anger and rage, sometimes gloom, sometimes terror and very rarely something positive and hopeful.

Tonight, he brought lust.

He took a step toward me, and then another one.

More heat gripped my body. I blamed adrenalin and the damn alcohol—I’d downed three more drinks while Troy and Pierre were tasting my food. The drinks and the rush from my new job were a lethal combination. Something buzzed in the air, something that made the space between my thighs quiver in response, a pool of heat washing over my lower belly.

I knew if I opened up to him, it would end in tears. The writing was on the wall, the text smeared in blood, no less. Stay away, Sparrow. Don’t let your curiosity get the better of you.

The floor-to-ceiling windows were fogged with condensation, and my breathing grew heavy. My back still faced him, and I knew that if I turned around, I’d cave. I was holding the top of a six-drawer dresser, the expensive kind, my feet still clad in those goddamned high heels. He closed the space between us and stood behind me, his body pulsing heat at mine, wave after wave.

But he didn’t touch me, and somehow, it made me want him even more.

My body froze, legs clenched together in fear and...No. He was corrupted. A monster. No.

My mind raced and I struggled to read my own feelings. He said I needed to reciprocate. But also that he wasn’t a rapist. That with him, I’d want it. So right. So wrong. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

“Bend over,” he ordered, his lips pressed behind my ear. I wanted to respond, but felt his fingers already moving down my back, unzipping my dress slowly, deliberately brushing my spine in the process. I leaned forward to take off my heels, and he yanked me closer to his body by my waist, my ass hitting his groin. “Leave them on.”

My dress fell on the floor, exposing my simple cotton underwear and matching white strapless bra. I stepped out of the pool of fabric beneath me. He kicked the dress into a pile and, still behind me, trailed one of his long fingers along my collarbone. A shiver tickled my skin, raising goose bumps in its wake.

“Spread your legs.”

I did.

He moved away from me for a second. My heart drummed fiercely with anticipation as I placed my palms on the dresser, my body bent and my ass up in the air. I heard something click and watched as his hand snaked from behind my back, reaching over my shoulder. He put his gun on the dresser top in front of me. His holster dropped to the floor with a thud. Still completely and impeccably clothed, he trailed his lips over my neck, just barely touching me.

My skin was on fire and I lowered my head, staring at our feet. I was so needy I thought I’d collapse.

“Hold the dresser real tight unless you want a busted lip. I don’t want you hitting something.” His hand covered my throat as he pulled me into his face.

I had no sexual experience to speak of. I didn’t know what was about to happen. But truthfully, I didn’t not want it to happen either. If there ever was a good night to do something with Troy, this would be it. Hell, I wanted to experience what other girls were having.

I gripped the edge of the dresser, sucking on my lower lip.

“How’s your magical period tonight?” he taunted into my ear.

I moaned, arching my back to meet more of his body. He shoved his huge, warm hand into one of my bra cups, massaging and tugging at my nipple. I groaned, not uttering one word.

“Tell me you don’t want this.” His tongue flicked over my earlobe as his hand moved down to my stomach, his rough fingers caressing my skin. His mouth traveled down my jawline, stopping inches from my lips. “Tell me that you’re not ready yet, that you want me to stop.” He nipped the tip of my chin seductively, and my head dropped backward, to his chest.

Suddenly, it felt so hot in the room I was barely able to breath.

I cleared my throat. “Would it even matter?”

He nodded yes into my shoulder, his firm body pressing into mine. I didn’t want him to stop, thought I’d die if his hands left my wanting body, but I hated to admit that he was right. I loathed him but loved his touch.