Vicious Seduction

16

The pieces they carried were made with exquisite quality, which was reflected in the prices. As a seamstress myself, a quality garment was always important. I struggled to justify buying something I could have made better myself. Not that I had the time, but it was the principle. Conscience of my budget, however, I didn’t usually splurge on such luxuries. Today was an exception. When I saw a red silk set with a black lace overlay, I instantly fell in love. The lace flowers extended beyond the silk cup with a red mesh backing so fine it was almost transparent. The effect was stunningly beautiful. I wasn’t sure what I’d wear over it, but that was almost irrelevant when I knew what waited beneath. I thanked the store clerk and walked back to my apartment with long, energized strides. I even managed to keep from stumbling when I spotted Oran standing outside the building adjacent to my own—the one I’d listed at the club as my residence. His eyes were locked on my approach. My insides begged to liquefy with nerves and melt into the dirty concrete seams, but I forced my chin up and continued forward. “If I didn’t know better, I might start to worry you were stalking me.” “The difference between stalking and dating is a simple matter of attraction. In this case, the attraction is mutual, so stalking isn’t an issue.” I raised a brow at him. He answered with a lupine grin. “Careful throwing around challenges like that. I might be forced to prove you wrong.” God, I wanted to ask how, but that was exactly what he wanted. It would have been an invitation. And while the words were on the tip of my tongue, I forced myself to swallow them back. “What are you doing here, Oran?” He took a step closer, his eyes darkening. “Say it again.” I considered being obstinate and asking my question, this time without his name, but I knew what he wanted. I knew it, and I liked seeing how badly he wanted to hear it. I was just as hungry for his ravenous stare as he was for my voice. Dear God, I wanted Oran Byrne. The realization clamped down on my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I licked my suddenly parched lips and gave him what he asked for, not because I had to but because I wanted to. “Oran,” I said in an unintentionally husky voice. “You still haven’t answered my question.” He prowled a few inches closer. “I’m here because I started to look into you—into your family—like you suggested at Bastion.” “I was just venting. There’s no reason to overreact.” I never should have opened my damn mouth that night. “Regardless, I decided I wanted to hear it from you instead. I don’t want to ask your mother why you hate her. I want you to tell me.” I want to tell you, too. I’m tired of carrying this burden alone. God, I did want to tell him. I was shocked at how strong the compulsion was to lay all my problems at his feet, but I couldn’t give in. He was doing business with Lawrence, and the two had some sort of past. I couldn’t afford to forget that he was one of them, no matter how tempting the lure. “I never should have said those things—I was lashing out. If you were hoping for an explanation, I’m afraid you’re in for a disappointment.” The heat in his eyes smoldered. He seemed to contemplate his next move when his gaze snagged on the bag in my hand. He might not have known the store, but it wasn’t hard to guess what sort of shopping I’d done. I held a small white gift sack-type bag with black tissue paper. The name of the store was scribed in elegant black script on the side. It practically screamed intimates. Oran held out his hand in a silent demand. I smugly handed over the bag. Let him squirm, knowing what I wore beneath my clothes. It served him right, considering how thoroughly he’d distracted me lately. I watched him intently as his large, strong fingers lifted the delicate red silk from the bag. The molten desire I expected in his stare never appeared. Instead, he turned eyes sharp as silver daggers on me, every muscle in his body stiffening. “You are not f*****g wearing this for him.” OceanofPDF.com CHAPTER 11 ORAN I was too pissed to play Prince Charming. f**k that. I’d sooner throw her over my shoulder and lock her away than let that geriatric bastard see her in what should have been meant for me. Jesus, I didn’t know where these thoughts were coming from. I was out of control and couldn’t find it in me to care. She started to answer, and I could tell by the fire in her eyes that I wouldn’t like what she was going to say. I cut her off before she got the chance to say a word. Clutching her wrist, I hauled her around to the alley on the side of the building. It wasn’t particularly private, but it was better than having it out with her on the goddamn sidewalk. “Is Wellington taking you to the club for dinner tonight?” Just saying the words made my jaw ache with strain. “Yes.” Defiance. So much bloody defiance. “You don’t want to be with him, I know it. You came to Bastion for a reason. I didn’t make you—you came on your own. So why the f**k are you still going to see him?” “I told you, it’s complicated.” “Nothing’s that f*****g complicated.” “Maybe for you,” she shot back angrily. My mind raced as I stared her down. I needed to handle this carefully, but my frustration tinged my vision with red, making it hard to see anything but my need to gain her submission. The lighter was in my hand before I knew it, and I flicked it open. “Can you swear on your life he’ll never see it?” “You wouldn’t.” She gaped at me.