He knew he was poking the bear, but she started it.
“You think I won’t hurt you?” She shook her head as she stepped even closer, and he measured the decreasing distance between them.
“Oh, I think you could,” he said, leaning forward ever so slightly. “But I don’t think you’ll kill me.” The realization hit him like a spark of lightning, and he wondered why the hell he hadn’t figured that out much earlier. “You’ve had five months to do it—but you haven’t.” He tilted his head. “I wonder why not?”
Something flickered in her gaze, and her lips tightened. He’d hit a nerve. Triumph washed over him. God, he’d finally found a crack, a weakness. “You. Can’t. Kill me.” He drew the words out slowly. “Am I paying for your daddy issues, little girl?”
Her eyes narrowed, and that was all the warning he got—it was all the warning he needed. She swung at him. He caught her wrist, pulling her around with one hand as he yanked at the chain tethering his other.
There was a loud crack. Bricks crashed to the floor as the old pulley tore away from the ceiling, and then he had her back pressed up against him.
“Tut-tut, Red. You got too close.”
Melissa didn’t quite know how he did it, but the bastard broke his chain. Just one, but it was enough to give him dangerous freedom. With one arm around her neck and the other wrapped around her waist and trapping her arms, he lifted her clear off the floor. She experienced a brief flare of panic. She tried to kick, tried to dig her heel into his instep, but he dodged her easily.
“Let’s end this now, Red. One way or another. Let me go, or I’ll snap your pretty little neck.”
“Let me go,” she gasped past the press of his arm against her throat.
“What? You don’t like to be held against your will? Try it for five months,” he muttered, his lips near her ear, then grunted as she lashed out with her foot. She made contact, but her kick had no force behind it.
The strength in his arms was frightening, yet he just held her. The breadth of his shoulders easily bracketed her own body, and she could feel his muscles bunch as he bore her weight. He could crush her. He could easily do as he threatened and snap her neck—but he didn’t. He held her. Then he did something that shocked her.
He leaned forward and rubbed his chin against her neck. His beard brushed against her sensitive skin, at once soft yet prickly, and the rough sensation set her trembling. “Come on, Red. You know you don’t hate me.”
Her breath hitched, and her nipples peaked at the tingles that spread down her neck, bringing a warm flush along with it. His naked chest was a wall of heat against her back, and his hips cradled her butt. Awareness, sharp and consuming, swept over her. She could feel him against her, every ridge of muscle against her back, the strength of his thighs and something that throbbed and moved against her, which created an answering pulse deep in her core. Her breasts swelled. No. She wasn’t—she couldn’t—no.
She stiffened in his arms. “No, I loathe you,” she said through gritted teeth. She twisted her wrist until her palm could make contact with his muscular forearm, and she latched on, pouring every inch of her resentment into that contact. She whispered a spell. Heat seared between them, and she tightened her grip. He grunted. Hissed. His arm moved slightly, and she managed to move her other arm until her hand could press against the outside of his thigh, and she clutched him, focusing her power on those two points of contact. The heat increased. She could feel his skin blistering under her hand, smell the fabric of his jeans burning.
His breath hitched, then he let her go, pushing her away. She whirled, hands raised, and an invisible force threw him against the wall behind him, holding him against the brick surface.
“Argh!” He tried to pull away, tried to reach for her, and she curled her fingers until he threw his head back in pain. “Stop it!”
She’d captured him initially with the help of her brother—and that was only after Hunter had exhausted himself in a battle first against his brother, and then his Warrior Prime of a father. Keeping the pyro jerk imprisoned on her own was proving a challenge. If it wasn’t for the iron cuffs he wore that bound his light warrior magic, he would have already overpowered her.
Melissa retreated and didn’t let up on the force she was directing against him until she reached the door. She clenched her hands and shoved her fists in a downward motion, and her prisoner collapsed to the floor. He moaned as he clasped his head, curling up into the fetal position, and she stormed out into the tunnel. With a flick of her fingers, the door slammed behind her, the lock sliding home. She strode up the corridor, fuming.
She’d gotten too close. She should have known better. He was like a viper, waiting for you to get within striking distance. Five months ago she’d been tempted by him, by his devilish smile and wicked brown-eyed gaze when he’d walked into her store. He’d been so confident, so darn cocky, saying he’d heard she was the best witch in Irondell with the best supplies, best spells, best concoctions—and the best strain of wolfsbane, and she’d swallowed his flattery, hook, line and sinker. She’d taken him into her apothecary, just like he’d taken her in with his false compliments.
She’d been thinking how gorgeous he was, and was even returning the flirty banter as she’d opened up her order book. Then her world had exploded. Fire, heat, and those brown eyes shot with burning flecks of red amber as he’d cast his flames throughout her little store. Then he’d backed out and closed the door, closing her inside her inferno.
He’d used her. She’d found out later he’d been trying to turn to ash any evidence of his brother’s involvement in a murder. He’d smiled at her. Teased her. Tempted her.
Torched her.
She pulled herself up the steep staircase that led back to her apothecary, trying to shoot strength into her shaking arms. That comment, though...the one about her father...that was—weird. For the past few weeks she’d been dreaming of the night he’d left—and other nightmares. She hesitated. Could he...? She shook her head. She didn’t know that anyone could do that. She closed the door behind her, engaging all the locks and wards, and then sagged against its surface, craving the unmovable support.
Tears burned beneath her eyelids. For a moment, ever so brief...she shook her head. No. Not that guy. Not ever.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” a woman’s voice murmured from the gloom.
Melissa startled, then peered across the room. A figure moved away from the wall, stepping into the soft pool of light. Melissa closed her eyes briefly. She wasn’t in the mood for this.
“Mother,” she greeted the woman with resignation. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see how your...” Her mother hesitated briefly, then continued “...project was coming along.”
For a moment, Melissa thought her mother was talking about the renovation. Then almost laughed. Right. The last time her mother had shown any interest in her life was five months ago, when they’d had a terrible argument.
Over the pyro jerk downstairs.
“Well, as you can see, the apothecary is
