Page 41 of Brutal
I watch her instead of the carving.
“What does it open?”
She can’t help herself. Delaney Cross is a woman who likes to know things.
“Some doors aren’t meant to be opened,” I say.
My answer lingers between us. In the way the blue in her eyes seems to deepen. In the way she tilts her head just slightly, just enough for me to notice the silver scale pendant at her throat shift.
“That sounds like a warning,” she finally says.
“It is.”
Again the head tilt. “You don’t seem like the type to leave doors closed.”
I suppress a quiet chuckle. “I’m not.”
“Then why should I?”
Because you don’t understand what you’re stepping into.
Because once you start, you won’t be able to stop.
Because there are things in this house that don’t come undone easily.
I don’t say any of that.
Instead, I take a step toward her.
Not enough to crowd her.
Enough to shift the air.
“That depends,” I say, “on whether you’re prepared for what’s on the other side.”
She doesn’t move.
Doesn’t step back.
Her pulse jumps again at the base of her throat. I see it. I remember it from last night, how quickly it betrayed her when I touched her wrist, and how fast she covered it. Her fingers move to the pendant, just a slight touch, as if it grounds her.
“I didn’t come here to stay on one side of any door,” she says.
Something tightens low in my chest. How easy it would be to grab her, pull her to me, kiss her.
And not just any kiss. A fucking ferocious one, where I shove my tongue through those luscious lips of hers and take what I want.
I’ll do it. I’m going to do things to her she never dreamed of. I’m going to do things to her she doesn’t want…and make her want them.
But not yet.
She’s standing in my house, and she’s not adjusting herself to fit more comfortably into it.
It’s unusual.
And a huge turn-on.
I shift my attention away from her, breaking the connection between us before it goes further than I intend.
