Dangerous Desire

22

I’m not a good liar. My emotions are always clearly written on my face, and my voice betrays the truth in elevated pitch and guilty wavers. And considering I believe Killian’s threat about sticking a knife in Raphael’s thorax, my choices are limited. So I simply tell him the truth.

“I asked him if he could get me a phone.”

Killian seems surprised by my honesty. He hesitates for a moment, as if unsure how to proceed. “So you could call this Naz of yours?”

“No. So I could call Dimitri.”

My answer angers him. He drags me closer, his hand clamping tighter around my throat. I don’t bother struggling, because I think it might make the situation worse, but I have to steady myself by gripping his wrists. They’re as thick as tree branches, corded with muscle, and iron hard.

“You said you hated Dimitri.”

My voice comes out choked from the pressure on my larynx. “I do. But if I don’t get back to him soon, he’ll kill Naz. I have to let him know it’s not Naz’s fault if I don’t return.”

His look is one of total astonishment. He stares at me, examining my expression, his gaze darting all over my face. His grip on my throat loosens, but he doesn’t release me. If anything, he draws me closer, until we’re practically breathing each other’s breath. Finally, a look of understanding dawns in his eyes.

“You’ll do anything to protect him, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Including risking my anger and returning to a man you claim to hate.”

“Including anything, even sacrificing my life.”

“That’s pathological.”

“That’s love.”

Killian has completely forgotten Raphael exists. He’s focused on me with extraordinary intensity, his brows drawn together, his eyes unblinking. In a hushed, unguarded tone I haven’t heard him use before, he says, “You keep saying that word. Love. Like it’s a real thing.”

I can breathe easier because his grip around my throat has loosened to the point where he’s simply resting his hands around the front and back of my neck. His touch is gentle now, as soft as a lover’s caress.

“It’s the only thing,” I reply vehemently, looking into his eyes. “It’s the only real thing there is.”

A faint tremor runs through his hands, a current like electricity. Something shimmers in the depths of his hazel eyes, an ancient, urgent pathos welling to the surface. “Show me.”

I blink. “Um. What?”

His gaze drops to my lips. His expression changes. It softens somehow, but also warms with an emotion that’s not quite desire. It’s more like . . .

Longing.

“I said show me. I want you to kiss me the way you’d kiss him.”

My heartbeat goes arrhythmic. Suddenly I can’t draw a breath.

“Or Raphael suffers,” Killian adds, still intently looking at my mouth.

My stomach knots. My armpits go damp. My pulse takes off like a rocket and my knees start to shake. I can’t do this. There’s no way on God’s green earth I can kiss this man. This brute. I’d rather kiss a shark. But Raphael—he’ll hurt Raphael. I can’t let that happen, I have to—

“Decide,” Killian orders in a gruff whisper.

God, if you’re listening, I know I’m damned, but I could really use a miracle right now. Please strike Killian dead. A massive brain hemorrhage would be perfect.

More loudly, Killian says, “Decide.” He shoots a dark glance toward Raphael.

I go up on my toes and press a swift, closed-mouth kiss to Killian’s lips.

When I withdraw, he stares at me. Then he shrugs, drops his hands from my neck, walks over to Raphael, grabs him by the throat, and raises his other arm overhead, the hand closed to a fist. Raphael lets out a shriek and cowers.

“No!”

I leap between them, managing to shove Killian back so he releases Raphael.

He’s undisturbed by my interference. He merely gazes at me with cool composure. Then he withdraws a folded knife from his back pocket. He opens it with a practiced flick of his wrist, causing Raphael to produce another shriek of terror, this one even higher pitched.

I throw up my hands. “Wait!”

Killian’s look is bland, almost bored. “This isn’t a negotiation.”

This man is getting on my last nerve. I set my shoulders, close the few steps between us, take his unshaven face in my hands, and kiss him.

Really kiss him, with tongue and heart and total abandon, pressing the length of my body against his, forcing myself to recall every kiss I ever shared with Naz. I imagine it’s his strong arms closing around my back and crushing me to his chest, his heartbeat hammering against my breasts, his hot mouth and surprisingly soft lips and low, anguished noise rising in the back of his throat.

I give myself over completely, knowing in the recesses of my mind that this is only for Raphael, and also that it’s a terrible, terrible mistake.

Because Killian kisses me back with the desperation of a man trying to save himself from drowning.

There’s uncharted passion in his mouth and his embrace, a kind of ravenous darkness that has no end. His kiss contains a black, bottomless hunger that could consume everything in its path or burn it to cinders, like an uncontrolled wildfire. He drinks deep, so deep I’m bent back at the waist, clinging to his shoulders, drawing short breaths through my nose as he ferociously ravages my mouth.

Finally, after what seems a lifetime, he breaks away from my mouth with a ragged intake of breath, his chest heaving. We stand frozen for uncounted moments, locked together, silently staring into each other’s eyes.