Corrupted Union(2)
Author: Jill Ramsower
“What says I’m not?” I swiftly raised the knife to his throat, the tip pressing against his skin.
He leaned forward just enough for the blade to draw a prick of blood. “Because I’m still breathing,” he murmured.
I never had a chance to respond.
One second, I had the knife at him, and the next, he’d grabbed my hand, spun me around toward the counter, and forced my hand to hold the blade at my throat instead of his. I couldn’t move an inch. His arms were steel beams wrapped around me while his solid body pressed against my back. I was at his mercy.
“If you don’t use the weapon, you run the risk of your opponent using it against you.” His lips were so close to my ear, each softly spoken word felt like a caress. A shiver glided along my skin and rattled my insides to the point of chaos. It was the only explanation for how wires could be so crossed that a bolt of lust struck deep in my core. How could this situation possibly turn me on? It didn’t. My brain had to be misfiring.
He is incredibly hot, Ro.
And dangerous! I shot back at the whimsical voice in my head, disgusted.
“I never claimed to be a fighter,” I said with an edge. “Just that I wouldn’t run crying.” I held still. Partly because the knife tip was teasing at breaking my skin, but also because there was no point in fighting him. I wasn't going anywhere if he didn’t want to release me.
Outwardly, I reflected perfect calm, but on the inside, an intoxicating sense of exhilaration flooded my veins. Like Frankenstein’s monster struck by that first lightning bolt, I felt my body come alive. The situation was dangerous. I shouldn’t have enjoyed what was happening, yet a part of me wanted to seize the feeling with both hands and never let go.
“I don’t believe much of anything would bring you to tears,” Keir mused as if to himself.
The blade drifted gently down my neck, slowing at my fluttering pulse point. My breaths grew shallow and more frequent, each one drawing in more of his intoxicating scent—old leather and motor oil wrapped in a trace of expensive cologne. It was an odd assortment of flavors that somehow complemented one another perfectly.
“I’m sure you could manage, but I’d prefer if you didn’t.”
He made a curious rumbling sound in his chest, then slowly shifted his hand, releasing mine and moving to gingerly grasp the blade. He disarmed me in a way that requested my surrender rather than forced my submission. I could lash out and cut his fingers since the knife handle was still firmly in my grip. But his actions seemed to convey that he wasn’t there to hurt me, so I followed his lead and released the weapon.
He tossed the utensil on the counter, then slowly released me, making sure to position himself between me and the knife. Cold air circled me at the loss of his touch.
“If you didn’t want to hurt me, why didn’t you just stay back? Or do you enjoy tormenting people?”
Keir stared at me. I used the opportunity to do the same, trying to figure out the unnerving man across from me.
“I could have done a lot worse if I’d wanted to torment you.”
“Then why?”
Silence.
“Because I could.” His delayed responses were a strategic power play. I got the sense he was used to a position of control, even lording over the pace of a conversation.
I refused to play by his rules.
“No.” I shook my head. “You did it to show me that you could. There’s a difference.”
He gave a slight nod. “Then you have your answer.”
Maybe, but it offered no clarity. Everything about this man was shrouded in mystery. I wanted to take the knife and slice away his mask to unveil what lay beneath.
My curiosity pissed me off.
It meant I felt some vested interest in what I learned, and that would be pointless. Keir clearly lived in a universe beyond my own—somewhere seedy and reckless and poised for devastation. I wanted no part of it, and therefore, should want no part of him.
“I think it’s best if you wait outside,” I blurted, crossing my arms over my chest.
Keir’s narrowed stare seemed to twist me around like a Rubik’s Cube, searching for a solution. However, his efforts were cut short by the sound of the front door opening. We turned our attention to the entry, but no one appeared. It suddenly occurred to me that they expected the alarm to be armed and didn’t know I had stopped by. His security officer was likely launching into some practiced emergency protocol.
“Dad, it’s me!” I called out. “I’m in the kitchen.”
Muffled voices filtered into the house before my dad stepped into view. “Hey, Ro! We weren’t expecting you.” His movement faltered when he caught sight of our visitor.
“Yeah, sorry about that. I forgot to text.” I looked at Keir, who now stood beside me. “Um, this is Keir. He came by to see you.” I hadn’t had time to think about what I’d tell Dad when he got home. I could have run to his side and told him how the man had been waiting inside the house when I arrived, but I didn’t, and I wasn’t sure why. To keep from making a scene? Maybe. To prevent Keir from getting arrested? That seemed to resonate louder than the other possibility, which only irritated me more.
Dad slipped off his suit jacket and draped it on a kitchen bar chair, his eyes never leaving Keir. “Why don’t you head upstairs, sweetie, while I have a word with Mr. Byrne.”
“No reason for her to leave,” Keir offered, to my surprise. “I’m only here for a friendly conversation, and after the short time I’ve spent with Rowan, I’d say her female sensibilities aren’t at risk.” His eyes cut to me, glinting with humor.
Was he … teasing me? What strange upside down world had I fallen into?
I appreciated that he was mocking the archaic masculine need to shelter innocent females, but it set me off balance. He acted as though we knew one another. As though we’d shared an understanding substantial enough upon which to base a private joke. Granted, I hadn’t ratted him out, but that didn’t make us friends.
I did my best to school my reaction when I realized my father was searching my face for insight into what had passed between Keir and me.
“My daughter’s sensibilities are none of your business. As far as you’re concerned, she doesn’t exist.” My father’s harsh retort surprised me. He was protective, but his status as a public figure meant he was rarely aggressive.