Twisted (Never After #4)(16)

“I don’t have any wounds to lick,” she replies.

I slip my hands into my pockets. “I could give you some if you’d like.”

She points a finger at me, indignation flaming behind her eyes. “Quit doing that. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Oh?” I tilt my head. “You don’t like honesty?”

“I don’t like you.”

Nodding, I wave my hand toward the door. “Then leave.”

She doesn’t speak, a contemplative look flashing over her face as she stares at me, and I don’t push her for a response. The key to manipulating someone into your favor is to make the other person think it’s their idea, so it’s important that she comes to me.

“You said you would help,” she finally murmurs.

“I said I could help,” I correct.

“My father…” She pauses and swallows, her delicate neck moving with the action. “My father wants me to marry.”

She looks up at me from under her lashes, as if she’s searching for a reaction.

I give her none.

“You knew,” she deduces, her voice dropping in disappointment. “I figured as much.”

Again, I don’t react.

She sighs, twisting her fingers together. “Well, not that anyone asked, but I don’t want to marry a stranger.”

Now I move, standing up straight and taking a step toward her. “Ah, your lover boy. Of course.”

She frowns. “He has a name.”

“Don’t we all?”

She groans, dragging a hand over her face. “You’re impossible to talk to.”

“Please. I’m incredible at conversation.”

Her lips twitch and she leans forward, like she’s trying to peer deep into my eyes. It makes me uncomfortable, as if I’m losing control of the situation, so I step closer to try to gain it back.

“I’m assuming you want your father to give you his blessing to marry this…” I lift a brow, urging her to fill in the blank.

“Aidan.”

“Aidan,” I echo.

She chews on her lip, and my hand reaches out without a second thought, tugging on her chin gently, releasing the abused skin from her teeth and pulling her head up until her neck is craned.

Her breath hitches as our gazes lock, but she doesn’t move from my touch. Energy buzzes in the space between us, and my hands tingle with the urge to reach out and wrap my hand around her curls, tugging until she bows before me, begging for me to be her savior from her unfortunate fate.

The image of her on her knees sends a shock through my system, heat collecting at the base of my spine as our eyes remain on each other.

Her mouth parts, her tongue peeking out to swipe across her bottom lip, so close to the tips of my fingers that I can almost feel it.

“And why should I help you?” I ask.

She jerks then, the tense buzzing in the air dissipating as she shoves herself away almost violently. “This was a mistake.”

“Maybe.” My heart thuds against my chest. “But if you want to be with your boy…”

“He isn’t a boy,” she bites out.

“Trust me, he’s a boy.” I step closer again. She steps back.

A thrill zings up my middle and I repeat the motion, enjoying this cat-and- mouse game we’re playing.

“Quit it,” she demands, continuing to walk backward until she hits the wall next to the door.

I ignore her plea, stalking toward her until there are only centimeters between us. I lift my arm up and rest it above her head, caging her in. Her body goes stiff.

“And will you do anything to keep him?”

The air grows silent and still, nothing but the sound of our breathing filling the quiet hum.

“I don’t want to lose him,” she finally whispers.

I bend down until my lips brush across the shell of her ear. “Then, tell me you need me, gattina.”

Her body stiffens like a piece of wood, and she speaks through gritted teeth. “Get away from me, pig.”

I don’t fight her, backing away and spinning to walk across the room until I’m standing behind my desk. I grab my wire-frame reading glasses from where they’re perched on the corner and slip them on, reaching down to rustle through the papers next to my computer, my eyes briefly scanning over the profit margins from our diamond production department. I try to focus on the words, spending the next few minutes ignoring her, but she doesn’t move from her spot, instead choosing to keep her heated glare trained on me.

Glancing up at her from over the rim of my glasses, I say, “If you’re done wasting my time, you can see yourself out.”

She still doesn’t move from where she’s pressed against the wall, and I wait for her to work through whatever pathetic crisis she’s having in her head.

Finally, she does. And then she’s surging forward, stalking toward me.

“You’re a dick,” she spits when she gets close, her closed fists pressing onto the top of my desk. “But I need your help.” She hesitates, and then, “I need you, Julian.”

The papers drop from my hands. “What’s the magic word?”

“Please,” she grits out.

I grin broadly. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”