Forsaken (The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #3)(7)

My hands come down on the wall on either side of her head and I find myself staring down into her sky-blue eyes, a fear in their depths that she seems to try to hide with a defiant lift of her chin. Her attempt at bravado is my undoing, a reminder of my sister’s youthful, spirited replies. Amy is nothing like this woman, who is maybe five years younger than my thirty years old, with experience and secrets in her eyes where Amy is innocence and truth, but it doesn’t seem to matter. This woman, this stranger and enemy, keeps making me think of her anyway. And that’s a dangerous path I’m not letting myself travel.

“You’re in the forest with wolves, woman, and even if you think you’re one of us, you’re not. We’ll all eat you alive. Get out of my forest before I’m the one who has you for dinner.”

Shoving myself off the wall and away from her, I swipe some blood from my face and grab the first aid kit from the bed. I’ve only taken a step toward the bathroom when it hits me that she could be wearing a wire, or a tracking device. “Scared, my ass,” I mumble, angry at myself for being even somewhat gullible.

Rotating to face her again, I shackle her wrist with my hand and haul her with me to the door. It amounts to a toilet and a sink, which suits my needs just fine. Pulling the woman in front of me, I place her in front of the sink and mirror, stepping behind her, my hands framing the dip at her waist, and I am far from oblivious of the curvy but slender hips and the round, rather perfect backside. No doubt, both assets are reasons Sheridan would pick her for this job.

Fuming with the thought, my eyes meet hers in the mirror and I see a panic in hers that no one can fake. Good. She should be panicked right about now. “What are you going to do?” she demands.

“Dinner came early.”

She tries to turn but I counter her move, stepping into her, using my thighs to pin her legs. Shifting to hold her more snugly in place, I fit her backside to my front, her soft round rear fitting against my groin. My cock reacts like it’s just been given a reward, thickening instantly, apparently not giving a flying f*ck that she’s Sheridan’s bitch, even if I do.

“Let me go,” she demands.

“You just ordered me to do the opposite in the other room.”

“I told you not to leave me behind, not to pin me against a bathroom sink.”

She tries to shift again, and my zipper stretches to painful limits. “Enough,” I grind out shortly through clenched teeth. “I need to be sure you aren’t wired, or wearing a tracker.”

She stills, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror again, her dark brown hair lying haphazardly over her brow. “Wire? Tracking device? No. No, I don’t have either.”

“Forgive me if I don’t take you at your word.”

“What you are going to do?” she asks again, the panic in her eyes from before now radiating in the quiver of her voice.

“I’m going to find out for myself, and we can do that one of two ways.” I turn her around to face me, my legs clamping around hers again instantly, my hands returning to her waist, where I intentionally allow my fingers to flex. “I can search you, and do so intimately and completely”—I pause for effect, the air between us thickening a bit too readily to suit me—“or you can strip down for me and prove you’re clean.”

Her lips part in a silent gasp. “You can’t be serious.”

“As serious as a wolf about to rip out a deer’s throat, sweetheart, and this needs to happen now. Decide. Which will it be?”

“Sheridan wouldn’t have me wear a wire. He’d know you’d do this.”

“Of course he would. The whole idea here is for me to get you naked. He wants you in my bed. And if you’re offering, I won’t decline, but it’ll be me f*cking you, not you f*cking me.”

“I’m not offering anything.” Her hands press hard against my chest. “Let me out of here.”

“Not a problem,” I say, doing what’s no doubt the opposite of what she expects, releasing her and moving the few inches away the space allows. But we’re still close, a few inches separating us at best, and I can smell the damnable floral scent of her skin. She grips the sink behind her, her chest rising and falling in steady, heavy movements, but she doesn’t leave. Of course not. She works for Sheridan. Even if she wants to go, she can’t.

She says nothing. Does nothing. I give her a grand gesture toward the door. “Feel free. You’re on your own.”

Indecision flickers over her face, that streak of my blood a drastic contrast to her beautiful porcelain skin. Damn it to hell, why am I noticing her skin? Irritated at myself and at her, my hands go to her waist and I literally lift her and set her aside. Stepping to the sink, I grab the towel on the rack and turn on the water.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

I glance up at her. “That question is getting old, but if you must know, I’m cleaning up to get the hell out of here—and so we’re clear, I’m leaving without you.”

“If you think I’m being tracked, why aren’t you leaving now?”

“Because you being wired means Sheridan set up this escape, and he simply wants to keep an eye on us. In which case, I actually have more time, not less.”

“Then you need to know you have less. I’m not bugged. I’m not wearing a tracking device.” She grabs my arm and I face her as she promises, “I’m also not the whore you seem to think I am. But I can’t get naked to prove it.”