I collided with him as violently as he’d slammed into me.
My face smashed into his chest, my speed tripping him up.
We both cried out as he fell backward, tumbling over the back of the couch and landing on the soft cushions below.
I landed on top of him.
His arm shot out on instinct, caging me, keeping me from rolling off. My palms ended up planted on his chest again, feeling the wild hammer of his heart.
Heat.
Everywhere.
His body burned under my hands like lightning. His coat sleeves draped down his forearms as he locked me on top of him, the silver cuffs on his wrists glinting in the sunlight.
“Sorry,” I whispered, breathless and terribly afraid of being accused of planning this. “I didn’t mean...” I pressed my lips together, refusing to say anything else.
He stared at me. Really stared. His dark eyes weren’t arctic anymore—his pupils blown wide and hungry, something raw and unguarded swimming in the bottom of his soul. Without a word, his arm slid tighter around my waist, pulling me flush against him as if he’d forgotten himself.
For a heartbeat, I saw nothing else, felt nothing else.
Just him.
Just his body beneath mine, his palm splayed over my lower back, his breath skimming my lips. Sparks danced in every place we touched, a static charge building stronger and stronger, until one wrong move could set us alight.
His gaze dipped to my mouth, his fingers flexed against my spine, and I completely forgot how to breathe.
He shivered as if my proximity unravelled him, but then, with a guttural groan, he shoved off the couch, taking me with him. He supported me until I stood on two feet, then shoved me away. The loss of contact made my skin burn with snow after burning with his unnatural fire.
Breathing hard, he clenched his fists by his sides. “Stop playing whatever games you’re playing.”
“I’m not—”
“I’ll pay you in blood but not in that.”
How did he break my heart by offering to pay me with the very thing trapping him here, yet constantly denied himself any form of companionship?
It only made me more determined.
More sure that I was doing the right thing trying to be his friend.
“Lucien, I—”
“Don’t.”
“But—”
“Was it you who hurt Whisper?” He cut me off deliberately. “Did you use the knife I gave you to harm the only thing I care about?”
Every piece of me smarted as if he’d slapped me.
This was going from spectacularly bad to horrifically horrible.
I didn’t want to name Laura because I couldn’t be responsible if he killed her. But if I said it was me...
“Did you hurt him to hurt me?” he breathed, pain aching behind his fury.
Whisper came to my side, headbutting my hand until I stroked him without thinking, the solid bulk of him pressing hot against my thigh.
I still couldn’t reply.
I stared at death and went absolutely speechless.
Lucien glowered at his panther.
Silence echoed between us as he studied the way Whisper purred—almost obnoxiously loud as if defending me. I opened my mouth to speak—to try to deflect blame from Laura and save myself, but Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.
“Forget it.” His tone turned heavy and tired. “It wasn’t you.”
I stiffened. “Are you...will you make whoever did it pay?”
His hand fell and his head tipped up, his gaze locking wearily on mine.
He studied me long enough to make me lightheaded, before he finally sighed. “I told Whisper he has to fight his own battles. He can deal with whoever hurt him.” Turning in a whirl of black, he prowled toward his bedroom. “I’ve changed my mind. Leave me alone.”
Every part of me ached as Lucien vanished into his quarters and slammed the door with a resounding bang.
I sagged against the purring panther. “Well...” I forced a smile. “That went well.”
Whisper huffed as if I was the most ridiculous woman in the world.
He had a point.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
HE DIDN’T COME OUT OF HIS room until well past sunset.
Usually, I would’ve left by now. Grateful to have knocked off work and possessively hoarding the hours I had to snack, nap, and do my best to relax enough for my headaches to fade.
But...I’d stayed.
If I was honest, I hadn’t done much work. Not needing to behave under his watchful, suspicious gaze, I’d spent most of the day curled up in his usual place on the window seat, skimming the pile of books he’d been working through. I’d even managed a nap when Whisper squeezed himself between me and the window, smothering me with his warm, cosy bulk.
A lot of the day, I’d worried Lucien wasn’t well. That he was behind that door burning and hurting, too proud and stubborn to ask for help.
But...Whisper didn’t seem concerned, and I did my best to accept he must be okay.
“That’s for you, oversized kitty cat.” I plopped the huge stainless-steel bowl onto the floor, heavy with two slabs of steak I’d found in the fridge. I’d seared both sides—unsure if Whisper was used to cooked or raw and settled for somewhere in between.
The panther licked his muzzle, his huge paws scarily quiet as he stalked toward his food.
Turning to fill up two glasses with wine—plum this time—I almost dropped the bottle as I noticed Lucien leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, shoulder propped up against the frame. “What are you still doing here?” His voice was thick with scorn and snow, but his eyes lingered eagerly on the mushroom pasta I’d made an hour ago, waiting on the breakfast bar.
“You’re back.” I beamed a smile as if nothing strange was going on between us and grabbed the two glasses.
All day, I’d rehearsed what I would say and each time I’d found flaws and riddled myself with anxiety. I’d had to stop trying to foresee how tonight would go and hoped fate would intervene.
“Here.” Going to him, I offered up one of the glasses.
He studied me warily before accepting the drink with stiff fingers. Taking a sip, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. His jaw clenched as if holding back whatever he wanted to say before he muttered reluctantly, “You’re exceedingly frustrating.”
I blinked, shocked he’d initiated conversation. How was I supposed to reply to that? I went with the most idiotic response possible. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re apologising?”
“Am I supposed to?”
“I can’t figure you out.” He scowled, pinning me with his stare. “Whenever I think I have, you do something to prove me otherwise.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It is when I can’t guard myself against whatever it is that you’re up to.”
My stupid heart skipped a beat. “I’m not up to anything.”
He laughed under his breath, cold but not callous. “Then you’d be the first person not to have an agenda when it comes to me.”
“Yes, well...” I took a healthy swig of sweet plum wine. “I do have one of those.”
His eyes flared. “What?”
“Relax.” I smiled, cursing the fresh pounding in my temples. Stupid stress. Stupid nerves. Stupid, stupid crush. Where had these annoying feelings come from anyway? By all reason and logic, I should hate this man.
But I didn’t.
God, help me.
Clinking my drink to his, I took another mouthful. When I met his eyes again, I braced myself. “I’ve tried to convince you over a thousand times, but I really hope you can believe me tonight.”