Page 60 of I Know Your Secret
I laugh. “Okay, then.”
“You’ve masturbated while here?” he asks, his dark eyes growing even darker as he stares at me from where he’s leaning on the table before me, his nose tantalizingly close to mine.
“Why? Would you roll the tapes back to watch?”
“Would you like me to?”
I grin. “No. I haven’t. Because you told me the other night that you’d know.”
His smirk has so much depth that I might drown in it.
“Maybe we’ll amend that rule to only masturbate where I can watch you.”
“On the cameras or in person?”
“Either one.”
“Are weactuallychanging the rule, or is this tentative?”
“You’ve got a wicked tongue,” he says, his tone darkening.
“As you well know.”
The implication of my words hangs between us momentarily before he leans into me, his nose skimming mine.
I try to keep my wits about me, but his presence is so consuming—like a heated blanket on a cold day, like the sun when at its peak in the sky.
“Don’t toy with me, poison.”
Clearing my throat, I force my eyes to widen because they’d grown heady under his scent and proximity. “I’m not.”
“We’re changing the rule. Give me your list,” he whispers, to which I hold up my paper between us, my hand shaking.
Another grin spreads across his lips as he walks down the hall to hisstalkerroom.
While he’s gone, I take a few steadying breaths, remembering my plan and trying to reel myself back in.
The sound of a printer shooting out paper rends the air before he reappears down the hall.
I realize he’s shirtless, and my eyes travel down his long torso, an eight-pack cutting into a V right above his low-slung sweatpants. He’s gone shirtless before, but two deep scars are visible in the light spilling through the windows. One cuts across his chest, and the other is jagged and thick, running across his abdomen.
He hands back the paper, and I lay it down on the tabletop, lifting my finger to run it over his mangled scars.
“Attractive, aren’t they?” he grumbles.
“Well, they don’t take away from your beauty, if that’s what you’re trying to imply.”
Standing, I keep my hand on the one on his stomach, the worst one. “What happened?”
He laughs, and the sound is a bit maniacal. “Not like you care. So, let’s not pretend.”
“I do care, or I wouldn’t have asked.” My tone is cold and stern.
“Those are the scars from where you hit me, pretty poison. You know, the night you left me reeling in the middle of the road?”
“But this is so deep…”
“Mm. That part’s my fault. I had a knife in the other hand, you couldn’t see, unsheathed and ready to fight whoever got out of your car.”
