Paradise Found: Cain (Paradise #2)(62)

“And risk losing you?” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his short hair.

“I’m already lost to you!” I yelled. My hands flailed out to the side and slapped down on my thighs. “Why can’t you just tell me the truth? Tell me what I need to know. He killed my parents. My parents!” I screamed at Cain. “For what?” I continued to rant. “To please your father?”

Cain looked away again. I didn’t need to stay. I wasn’t going to get answers. Fuck it, I thought. I had enough.

This time Cain caught me as I stepped forward.

“Calm down,” he snipped.

“Calm down!” I yelled. “Calm down?” I screamed. My voice cracked. He pulled me to him and I tried to force him back. My hand came up to push him off me, but he trapped it between his chest and mine. My other hand raised in a weak attempt to left hook the side of his head. His hand caught mine in a tight grip. The rearing head of the cobra engulfed my small fingers and lowered my hand, pinning it between us as well.

“Easy,” he soothed, although his voice was gruff.

My whole body trembled and I opened my mouth to scream. My teeth rested on the shoulder of his Cain-scented tee. I prepared to bite, to taste the evil he represented. The piercing noise strangled out of me as I open-mouth bit him, choking on a sob. A debilitating, gut-clenching sob. My knees collapsed and I cried out. My breath caught and struggled, as inhaling was difficult between the cries. In an instant, the back of my knees were swept up, and I rested against his chest while he carried me to his living room. He sat on the couch, holding me in his lap, while I wept for dead parents and those that killed them. How could a simple life become such a mess? Where did such evil come from?

As my gulping sobs lowered to hiccupped sniffles, Cain brushed back my hair and rubbed circles into my back. He didn’t speak. He didn’t dare try to comfort me with words. Still struggling to catch my breath, I sat up, balancing on his thigh.

“I need to go,” I said, determined that I had to get away from him. I had to remove myself from him, his house, his life. I didn’t want what he offered me. He wasn’t even offering anything any longer. I would never be his wife. I didn’t want this life.

“You can’t go,” he said calmly. “Not like this.”

Struggling with him again, I attempted to stand, bracing awkwardly on his thigh and his chest to push upward. I disentangled myself and stood by his knees. He looked up. That chiseled face that could hold firm, look stern, and smirk sexily, looked at me with an expression I couldn’t recognize on his edgy face.

“You can’t keep me here,” I barked, looking down at him, but lacking the physical strength to move.

“You came to me, remember?” he snipped, then cleared his throat. I stepped away from him, but his quick hands darted forward and grabbed the back of my thighs.

“You came to me?” His tone turned serious, the words twisted, and the puzzlement proved he was rethinking his accusation. “I’m not letting you go, not like this. You’re too upset.” He stood so abruptly, I stumbled back, knocking into a low table in front of the couch.

He turned my body and forced me to sit down. “Stay,” he snapped. He crossed the room to flip a switch to start the gas-fueled fireplace. Suddenly, I was mesmerized by the flames. Was hell real? I questioned. Did we burn there for our sins? What sin had I committed that I must walk through this valley of pain? I fell in love, I scolded myself. I fell in love with the devil himself and all his accomplices.

I hadn’t noticed he left me alone.

“Sofie?” he questioned somewhere behind the couch. I had slipped off the cushions and sat pressed against the base of it, still concentrating on the yellow-orange flames that danced gleefully, tempting me to join in their fiery celebration.

The table before me slid out of the way, and a blanket was spread on the floor. A glass of wine was handed to me, and without thinking, I accepted the sweet juice, guzzling it down my parched throat like it was a welcome cup of water. My eyes never left the flames. The wine doused my insides, which burned like the fire before me.

I was gently tugged forward and my jacket was removed. My body felt like a rag doll and my limbs flopped with each motion. I was carefully pressed to the floor, and my head was lifted to rest on a cushion. The pressure of his hands on my back began in soothing circles. I remained unresponsive until the lower portion of my sweater was raised and warm hands caressed my skin.

“Cain,” my rumbled voice warned.

“You need to relax a little. Just concentrate on my hands.” His large fingers continued the delicate massage of my lower back and my eyes closed willfully. Internally, I groaned.

“I know what I’m doing,” he said quietly.

“I bet you do,” I muttered.

“Not like that,” he sighed, but a terse tease in his tone was clear. “After a fight, sometimes the trainer needs to work my tight muscles.”

“How advantageous for you,” I grumbled, not certain the sound left my lips.

“My trainer’s a man,” he smirked.

“How disappointing,” I moaned, as his hands traveled upward.

“Sofie,” he warned. Within minutes, my body was relaxing. My eyes concentrated on the flames before slowly lowering.

“Here,” he muttered, as he dragged me upright enough to remove my sweater. I should have protested. This could lead nowhere good, but the pressure of his fingers on the tension of my back made me lose focus. Swirled designs danced along tight muscles, over shoulder blades, and down my sides. Thinking about it, the tender pressure felt like a snake slithering across my skin, pulsing as it twisted and curled along the path of my body. Skilled fingers unsnapped my bra and my arms instinctively slipped to my sides, bracing the loose material to stay in place.