Deliver Me From Evil

“You can just go. I’m tired.”

“We have business yet, sweetheart.”

“If you want to gloat, can you maybe hold off until tomorrow morning? I don’t think I can process a whole lot more tonight.” 

“I’m not going to gloat. Believe it or not, it doesn’t make me happy to see you unhappy. I didn’t want you to find this out.”

“No, I know. I asked for it, right?” I shake my head, push my hand into my hair. “I’m tired.” I meet his dark forest gaze. How many more secrets does he keep that will unravel me? Will I ever know all there is to know about this man? 

“You need to learn to trust me. Because without me, you’re not going to survive.”

“Is that a threat?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He gives me a half smile. “No, Little Kitty. It’s advice you should take.”

“Great, thanks. I’ll consider it. Can you go, please?”

“Like I said, we have business between us.” He takes a breath in, gets up, crosses the room and locks the door. I sit up on alert and watch. He turns back to me, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows as he returns to the bed. 

Something about the ominous gesture sends some message that bypasses my thinking brain and hits at my very center. My stomach flips as, unable to hold his gaze, I look to his hands, his exposed forearms. He’s wearing the ring I remember from our first meeting on his right ring finger, and on his left is our wedding band. On one wrist is an expensive watch and that beaded bracelet. The olive skin is dusted with dark hair and watching his muscles work and flex has a strange power over me—like there’s something in me that has no choice but to submit to this man, that wants to do just that. 

Santos Augustine is raw, animalistic masculinity. He is all alpha male, and my body is very aware of his. Our connection is undeniable, the feelings he stirs inside me wrong to my thinking mind and yet so very real. 

He sits down on the edge of the bed and draws the blanket that’s covering my legs back. I’m dressed in a T-shirt. One of his, I guess. It’s huge on me. He must have put it on me when he brought me here from the lighthouse. I’m sure my dress was ruined.

I watch as his gaze slips to my bare legs. He rests one hand on my thigh, and I’m reminded again of the difference in size between us. 

The difference in strength and power. 

Even that does something to me. 

When I look up, he’s watching me. I swallow because his eyes have gone dark, the pupils dilated. I find I’m licking my lips in anticipation of a thing I shouldn’t want. 

“Get undressed, Madelena,” he says.

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