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My body starts shaking. Every single chain on each of my limbs pulls taut, and I might just snap.

Having her this close to me…

It’s not fucking fair.

“Well, you don’t. Thank you for saving me, Prince Charming, but I’m sure your girlfriend is waiting at home for you,” she says, tone laced with venom, eyes dipping to my lips.

My cock is so fucking hard that I’m afraid it’s going to rip through my jeans if I don’t get my hands on her in the next few seconds. But I’m also so angry at the mention of Penelope that my hand connects with her throat before I can even think about what I’m doing. Her breath hitches at the contact, and her hips press into me, meeting my hard erection.

Bringing my face towards her ear, I nip on her earlobe, the coconut scent of her shampoo caressing my senses. “Girlfriend?” I growl. “You’re mistaken, Angel. The only woman ever on my mind is you. It’s always you. Fuck. You have no idea how much restraint it's taking me not to devour you right now.”

She swallows beneath my hand.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was meant to be a passing fascination with a woman who dances like she is the music. But her movements play on my mind on a constant loop. I think about her when I’m supposed to be sleeping. I think about how she would sound if I touched her. When she comes apart in my arms.

I shouldn’t want her like this. I shouldn’t think about her like this. But obsession doesn’t ask for permission. And I’m done waiting.

Chapter 19

Camila

My heart is hammering out of my chest. I don’t know how, but all he has to do is look at me, and it’s like all logical thought—every boundary I’ve set myself—flies out of the window.

I can hear the beat of my pounding heart like warning sirens in my head. Begging me to run the other way and not look back.

But it’s too late.

The only thing that exists in this moment is his towering presence and leathery scent.

But Penelope hangs in the back of my mind. He can wrap his words up in a pretty bow like he did, but that niggling feeling is still there.

His right knee presses between my legs, pinning me in place, as his hand tightens gently around my throat. His face dips to my ear, stubble scratching at the sensitive skin.

“Tell me you believe me,” he whispers. His voice sounds like a plea, eliciting goosebumps all over the left side of my body.

Trusting him—believing him—would be catastrophic. I want so badly to trust him. But I can’t.

The image of Luke in bed with someone else flashes in my mind, bringing a queasy feeling to my stomach. The hurt. The pain. All of it at once.

“Angel.” Xander’s voice pulls me out quickly, and I become aware of only him again.

I drag my eyes to his slowly. His bounce between mine, searching for an answer to his question.

“Tell me you believe me,” he pleads.

Stupidly, I do. The way his words drift off his tongue like he’s begging is enough for me to believe him.

Luke never begged.

“If you ever interrupt me again, I’ll shoot you”—he digs a finger into my chest—“right here. Then I’ll fuck your dead body into the ground.”

I refuse to let him play on my mind right now.

I shut it out and focus on the exhilarating presence in front of me.

I nod at Xander, a slow but sure confirmation. His hand leaves my throat and comes to the nape of my neck, gathering my hair and pulling, angling my lips higher towards him.

It doesn’t hurt.