He looked at me for a long, long time, a kaleidoscope of emotions moving over his features. Fury, frustration, irritation, desire. That last one hit me the hardest, a southpaw straight between the ribs. Eventually, he smoothed his expression clear, blew out a breath, and planted his hands against the butcher block.
I cleared my throat lightly. “Graham—”
“Don’t,” he cut me off. “So help me god, Gwen, my self-control is hanging by a fucking thread. If you throw even one sassy little line at me right now, if you try to cute your way out of this instead of telling me the goddamned truth for once in your fucking life… that thread is going to snap.”
I didn’t think I wanted to see Graham’s control snap.
Then again…
My teeth sank into my bottom lip. “I do not cute my way out of things,” I told him stiffly.
His hands flexed against the countertop so hard, the tips of his fingers turned white. “Gwendolyn.”
“Um…” I swallowed, but my mouth was suddenly dry. “Okay. I won’t be purposefully cute. Though, I do reserve the right to be cute by accident. Sometimes, I can’t control it. Sometimes, it just slips out.”
He stared at me for another long beat, then jerked a hand though his hair, mussing it instantly as he muttered a low, frustrated, “Christ.” His chest expanded as he hauled in another breath, then pinned me with a look that stole all the air, every bit of it, straight out of my lungs.
“You’ve been lying to me,” he began, blunt as ever. “I’ve been letting you because, frankly, you’re a shit liar, and I figured none of what you were lying about posed any real danger. That was my fuck up. Should’ve pushed you harder from the start. Now, I’m pushing.”
I was smarting a bit over theshit liarcomment, but managed not to retort.
“You and I are going to have an honest conversation about what’s been going on. Warning you right now, Gwen, this conversation can go one of two ways.” He took another slow, rattling breath and I got the sense he was fighting to keep his tone steady. “First way? We sit here, drink coffee, and you spill. Everything. All of it. Anything I want to know, even if you think it’s not important.”
“And the second?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
“Second way, you decide to withhold information — information I need so I have a full picture of what’s going on around you, information I need to keep you safe moving forward, seeing as a woman of your acquaintance was left practically fucking gift-wrapped for you to find on your run this morning, information I should’ve had from the fucking start so maybe I could’ve prevented that from happening or, at the very least, prevented you from seeing that shit…” He shook his head. “Shit that’s going to make it even harder for you to sleep at night when we both know you’ve got enough fucking issues in that department...”
I swallowed hard.
“You decide to withhold any of that information, you eventhinkabout withholding any of that information, and I will toss you over my shoulder, take you to my bed, tear off your clothes, and quite literally fuck the truth out of you. And babe?” He leaned in, hands planting back on the countertop, and glared at me, his eyes narrowed to emerald slits. “I will enjoy it.”
I nearly fell off my stool. I was no longer breathing, my lungs refusing to pump air in or out. My throat was closing with a lump of emotion. I wasn’t sure if it was sheer, instinctual panic or pure, animalistic attraction. Judging by the heat pooling between my legs, the pulsing ache of need his words set off inside me, I was leaning toward the latter.
Graham quirked one dark brow, as if to ask,Well? Which option will it be?
Forcing a gulp of oxygen into my lungs, I pressed my thighs together hard enough to stop circulation to my toes and whispered, “I’ll tell you the truth.”
Something flickered in the depths of Graham’s eyes, there and gone so fast I couldn’t be sure what it was… but it looked a hell of a lot like disappointment. He turned away and flipped on the coffee machine to brew a fresh pot.
“Let’s start with Elizabeth Proctor,” he said, his voice carefully empty of the gritty desire it held only a moment before.
I nodded even though he wasn’t looking at me, he was occupied retrieving two mugs from his cabinet. With no other option — okay, that wasn’texactlytrue, but I was pointedly not thinking too hard about the other option Graham had spelled out, which involved him screwing my brains out until I was physically incapable of deception — I began to speak in a soft, tremulous voice that sounded nothing like my own.
“Eliza was my neighbor. She lived in the Victorian house next door to Aunt Colette for as long as I can remember. When my aunt was alive, they were good friends.” I paused. “She was also a witch.”
Graham paused, grip tightening on the mugs. “A witch.”
Goddess, he was going to have a field day with this. The man loathed the supernatural, scorned anyone who considered themselves a true believer. I could only imagine what he’d think about the story I had to share. But I forced myself to keep talking.
“Eliza and my aunt were both members of the same group of Wiccans. They call themselves the Bay Colony Coven. And Aunt Colette… I guess she was sort of like their head honcho, before she died. Their High Priestess.”
“You guess?”
“I didn’t know about any of this until the other night,” I whispered, wincing as I prepared for the next part of the story — one I knew would not please the man standing across from me. “Until… Eliza and two of the other witches in that coven… sort of… kidnapped me.”
Graham’s hands grew so tight on the mugs, I was somewhat concerned the stoneware would shatter to pieces. He glared at me, eyes dark with barely leashed fury.
I forced myself to carry on despite the intimidating wrath pouring off him, thickening the air between us. “I know I told you I didn’t see anything in the alley, or when I woke up in the basement. I’m sorry, Graham, I truly am, but I lied.”