Page 17

He caught me around the waist, his arm a steel band. "Not so fast, little one."

Pulling me toward the shower, he leaned over and turned on the water.

My lips thinned as I averted my face, refusing to meet his gaze in the foggy mirror. "I don't want a fucking shower."

He held his open hand under the stream to test the temperature. Then he closed the glass door with a decisive click.

"It's adorable how you think I'm giving you a choice."

The dangerous calm in his voice made my stomach clench.

I pushed out of his embrace and once more launched myself toward the open door, my movements frantic and desperate.

Unfortunately, he beat me to it. For a man of his size and height, he was impossibly fast. Like the strike of a snake. Fluid. Lethal.

He slammed the door shut and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest, the muscles flexing beneath his skin.

He nodded in my direction. "You're covered in blood and dirt. You need a shower."

I matched his stance and crossed my arms, ignoring how it made my pulse race to mirror his dominance. "And whose fault is that?"

Refusing to take the bait, he responded in a deep, cutting monotone. "Your father's."

The air left my body. Ice-cold realization flooded my veins, freezing me in place.

It was especially vindictive the way he confirmed it. When someone said it out loud it was so much…harsher. Each syllable another nail in the coffin of my hope.

Tears clouded my vision, hot and stinging.

I gave my eyes an angry swipe and bit out, "You bastard."

The corner of his mouth lifted in a cruel half smile. "Sadly no. You're not the only one with daddy issues, sweetheart."

"You think this is some kind of a joke?" I pointed to my chest, my finger jabbing against my sternum. "I'll never have a chance at a relationship with my father because of you."

He pushed away from the door and stalked toward me, each step measured. The bathroom shrunk, the space between us charged with electricity.

"I have news for you, babygirl. I'm not the reason your father doesn't love you."

I snapped. "Fuck you!"

I launched myself at him. Fists raised, nails ready to draw blood.

He caught my arm midair and twisted it behind my back, forcing me against his chest. The collision knocked the air from my lungs, leaving me gasping against the solid wall that was him.

His fingers dug into my forearm as he wrapped his other hand around my throat.

Leaning down, he growled against my mouth, his lips brushing mine with each syllable. "The longer you fight me…the harder I'll fuck you."

His promise vibrated through me, igniting every nerve ending.

With a shriek, I fought in vain against his embrace as he lifted me off the floor and carried me backward. My feet dangled, searching for purchase, finding none.

Steam engulfed us the moment he opened the door to the shower and stepped inside. The glass enclosure sealed us in together, trapping the heat, the tension, the promise of violence and pleasure.

Hot water struck the back of my head, drenching my hair. It cascaded down my face in rivulets, mingling with tears I refused to acknowledge.

Closing his fist, he pounded a round brass plate embedded in the marble. Showerheads running up and down the wall on three sides hissed to life, hitting us both at all angles. A baptism of fire.