Illicit by Madeline Pryce Page B

his chest, feral and damning. He speared her with hot, furious eyes. Even though it was Peter’s seed in her belly, it was Grady she protected. His fist slammed against the dash, plastic splintering. “The fuck I will.”
    She clenched her jaw, stared at him brazenly, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed. Tangled curls fell around her face and a sheen of sweat still clung to her temples. Blood dripped down her neck, disappearing beneath the dress. His dick tightened, ready for round two.
    He needed a distraction, anything to keep from shoving her onto her stomach and lifting her ass in the air. Maybe this time he’d paddle her rear end until she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, who owned her.
    No. He had to think of something besides fucking her. The image of Eva leaving the cabin only an hour before filled him. She should have looked relaxed and sated after their long night together. Instead, her eyes were glassy with tears and the tip of her nose red. She’d been crying. Had he hurt her...physically?
    “You were crying when you left this morning.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “You were watching me.”
    His only answer was a shrug.
    She leaned the side of her head against the window, looked out into the winter wonderland. “Have you ever lost a parent?” she asked, still not looking at him.
    He tore his gaze from her swollen, bruised cheek to stare out the window. He’d rather have talked about how harshly he’d fucked her up the ass than delve into this emotional shit. The snow-covered trees and rolling mountains mocked him, took him back to a place he’d long since left.
    “My mother, when I was five. A hunter shot her in the head. The physical pain leaves but you never forget, not really.”
    The seat dipped, his only warning she’d moved close. No. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, accept her comfort. He leaned across her and threw open the passenger-side door before she could touch him. Gusts of cold air swept through the cab, stealing away their combined scent. He returned to the driver’s seat and gripped both hands around the steering wheel.
    “You should go,” he said, his voice cold. “I’ll leave the keys in the ignition.”
    “Do whatever you want,” she snapped and climbed out of the truck. Pausing, her hand tightened on the rim of the door. She turned to him. “You were right. I didn’t realize just how much I’d hate you in the morning.”
    He turned to her. A forced, sardonic smirk pried one corner of his mouth upward. Deliberately cruel, he ran an indifferent eye from her sex-rumpled hair to her black boots. At the sight of her, his heart sped.
    “The morning isn’t over yet, Angel . Just wait a little bit longer.”
    Just wait until she found out he didn’t intend to leave Bellows Falls.

Chapter Seven
     
    Eva stopped at the edge of the tree line, her gloved hand faltering on the last barren tree limb. In the clearing, the Pard waited. Eleven pairs of eyes turned to stare, each one looking her over from head to toe. Cataloguing. Assessing. Judging.
    A barrage of emotion slammed into her, changed with each familiar face she boldly locked onto. Disappointment was clear on almost every one of their faces.
    Her heart sped. This was not the small, private will reading she’d expected. This was a firing squad.
    She searched the onlookers for a clue, something that might tell her what she’d done to deserve this kind of welcome. Sure, she wasn’t leopard, wasn’t particularly close with any of them, but they’d never treated her like this before. When her eyes locked on Mark Grayson, the man Greg had one day wanted her to marry, she learned all she needed to know. Rage simmered in his ice-blue eyes, twisted his aristocratic features into a pained expression of betrayal.
    Peter. Was it really so obvious she’d slept with him?
    She’d spent hours in the shower, scrubbing her skin raw, desperate to erase his brand, desperate to free herself from wanting him again even after his cruel rejection.