Page 60 of Forbidden Fate

I know how to turn a man’s attention into armor. That’s not the problem.

The problem is that I’m not usually stupid enough to want the armor.

Cruz swallows.

I step away from the towel, toward him. “What?” I ask.

His jaw goes rigid. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

His eyes flash.

He knows exactly what.

“You don’t have to,” he says.

I almost laugh.

Almost.

Instead, I look at him. Catalog him. His shirt is rumpled with dried blood near one sleeve. His black hair is unruly, and his full lips are slightly parted. And his expression? Unreadable. Something between guilt, desire, and possibly fear.

God, what a mess.

A beautiful, dangerous, morally compromised mess.

It should repulse me.

It doesn’t.

“I know I don’t have to,” I say.

“Do you?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, Cruz. I understand the concept of choice.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant,” I say. “You’re very interested in my defense for a man who helped lock me behind bars.”

Pain moves across his face. “You’re right,” he says. “I did.”

I wanted him to deny it. To excuse it. To tell me he had orders, that he had no choice, that he didn’t know Vega’s true plans.

I wanted him to give me something easy to hate.

Damn him.

I turn and walk to the bed before he can see too much on my face.

I sit on the edge and let the mattress dip beneath me. I stretch one leg out along the quilt and lean back on my hands.

Cruz doesn’t move.

I tilt my head. “Are you going to stand there all night?”

He locks his gaze on to mine. “Maybe.”