The professional fixer, fixing a situation by any means necessary.
The realization was enough to make me forget all about the drugging desire I’d felt only seconds before. In its place, rage came crashing in like a flood. On its heels, resentment. Bringing up the rear, a burning sort of humiliation I refused to examine too closely.
I jerked back, out of Graham’s arms, and backpedaled a stride away. I tried to form words, but they were lodged in my throat, along with a thick tangle of emotions I could barely breathe around.
“You…” I broke off, too worked up to be articulate. “You…”
His dark brows quirked up. “If a kiss steals the power of speech, can’t wait to see what an orgasm does.”
Of all the arrogant, egotistical things to say in that moment…
Rage boiled my blood.
I saw red.
Before I could stop myself, my hand cocked back and I slapped him clear across the face. I’m not sure who was more shocked by the strike, him or me. We both froze as the red handprint bloomed on his right cheek, a vivid imprint of my anger.
“Oh my god,” I whispered, shocked by my own actions.
“What the fuck!” he exclaimed, brows furrowing. He lifted a hand to rub his reddened skin. “What was that for?”
I shook my head, unable to speak. Mortification consumed me. I’d never struck anyone in my life. I’d been on the receiving end of too many slaps from my mother to ever lift my own hand against anyone else. A thick tangle of emotion settled in my throat, blocking my airway. I was ashamed at myself for acting on my baser instincts, and more than a little angry at him for driving me to that newfound low. If I’d needed any more irrefutable proof that I was better off staying far, far away from Graham Graves…
Here it was, in bold red.
“Gwen—” he started, stepping closer.
“Don’t!” I snapped. “Just… don’t. Okay?”
“No, not okay. We need to— Gwen!”
He called out after me but I’d already turned away from him, exiting the room and storming down the hall to my bedroom.
“Damn it,” he cursed lowly, following after me. “Would you wait a second—”
“Nope!”
“Gwen—”
“No! Don’t you say my name. Don’t eventhinkmy name!” I yelled, shoving open my door so violently, it rattled on its hinges. “Thankssomuch for the security check. I’ve never felt more secure in my life!”
A growl of frustration sounded at my blatant sarcasm.
“I should’ve known you’d take the opportunity to belittle me,” I continued, storming deeper into the room. “You just can’t resist, can you? Any chance you get to take me down a peg, you simply have to take it!”
“That’s not what I was trying to do—”
“Right.”
“Fuck! If you’d just listen to me—”
Reaching my bed, I whirled around in time to see him enter the bedroom. His eyes swept around the beautifully finished space, taking in the stunning carved headboard, the fresh flowers on my vintage dresser, the carefully selected artwork, the lush accents scattered thoughtfully around on every available surface. His gaze lingered for a long beat on my bed. For some reason, I didn’t think he was memorizing the throw pillow arrangement or the duvet pattern. The look on his face was raw, the fading outline of my handprint still visible on his cheek. I had to avert my eyes, too ashamed to look at him when my mark still stained his skin. I hated myself for losing control — not just with the slap, but the kiss that proceeded it.
“Don’t you get it? I don’t want to listen to you, Graham.” I was breathing hard, my words a tangle of fury and frustration and fear. Yes, fear. Because there was a part of me that knew, as angry as I was at him for saying it… he was right. Right about my walls. Right aboutme. “I want you to leave.”
“No.”
“No?”