“So this is what you think of women?” I asked, shaking my head in disgust. “Really?”
Though the workers I’d hired wouldn’t come for a few more days, The Castle was starting to come together. The rubble had been cleared and a fresh coat of paint had been slapped across the walls. It was gray, which wouldn’t have been my first choice. Still, the fact that Abram had done it all by himself was more than a little impressive.
But not impressive enough.
Abram arched one of his dark eyebrows. “I’ll ask you one more time, as you seem intent on me knowing the other end of this conversation.” He leaned closer. “What are you talking about?”
“What do you think I’m talking about?” I scowled. “The curfew.”
He nodded once. “You’re welcome, of course. But I was referring to what it is that’s bothering you.”
I blanched, sure the heat in my face would come pouring out as smoke from my ears. This man—this ridiculous man—was trying to push my buttons. And worse, it was working.
“You smug bastard,” I said, jabbing the part of his hard, bare chest that peeked out from beneath his shirt. “I don’t know who you think you are or what right you think you have to—”
“To what?” he asked, smiling. He didn’t move my finger; instead, he leaned in further so that my entire hand was now splayed against him. “To do what was necessary to keep you safe?”
His skin was burning, and his pulse beat rapidly against my palm. I steeled myself against the confusion swarming through my mind. I knew how I felt. Angry. Only angry and nothing else. Right?
My eyebrows pulled together in that way my agent warned me not to let them. Not unless I wanted wrinkles. Right now, I didn’t care.
“Don’t you dare make this about me,” I said through gritted teeth. “This is about what you think of women!”
“I assure you I am a fan of women, Ms. Bellamy,” Abram answered, staring down into my eyes, more of a calm in his gaze than I’d ever seen before. “That’s why I prefer to keep them alive.”
“By making them second class citizens?” I didn’t realize at first, but my nails were beginning to dig into Abram’s chest. “You’re aware that this curfew does nothing but assume the women here can’t take care of themselves.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled it away from him. I flinched when I saw the scratches on his chest, but he didn’t show any signs of pain.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“Judging by what’s happened in the last few weeks, Ms. Bellamy, I would say protecting yourselves isn’t among your strongest attributes. Collectively speaking, of course.”
“Women are every bit as capable as men.” I tried to pull my hand from his grasp, but he held firm.
“Perhaps,” he answered. “But men aren’t the ones who are being targeted. And, given that you were almost killed the other night because you couldn’t change a flat tire, I wouldn’t use this as your opportunity to boast of capabilities.” His tongue appeared, licking his lips. “Say what you want, but we both know you need someone to take care of you. No,” he amended, glaring at me as my heart hammered in my chest. “You want someone to take care of you. Don’t you, Ms. Bellamy?”
I reared back to slap him with my other hand, but he grabbed my wrist. Now both my hands were captive, and in that instant, we were nearly nose-to-nose, breathing in the same air—a musky air that had been permeated by his scent.
“Let go,” I said, hating the way both my breathing and voice had shifted.
His gaze bore into mine, as though he could see something deep inside of me, something I couldn’t even see myself. Or, rather, something I didn’t want to admit. Something that went against everything I believed and all of who I thought I was.
“Is that what you want, Ms. Bellamy?” His lips parted. “For me to let go?”
The breath caught in my throat. He inched a fraction closer, closing that last bit of space between us so that his chest pressed against mine. Suddenly, and against my volition, my nipples hardened. My heart jackhammered against my ribcage, and a flush crept up my body, warming every part of me.
Abram tipped his forehead down so that it rested against my own. “Is that what you want?”
The temperature of the room shifted. The sensation of his hands pinning mine sent sparks through my body. He pushed against me, and the evidence of his arousal stiffened against my thigh.
I opened my mouth, ready to push him away, to tell him that yes, I wanted him to let me go. But the words did not come. Instead, only a whimper escaped my lips.
“Not good enough,” he said.