“Hello, Ms. Weaver.”
His silky, icy voice whispered beneath my sheets, hardening my nipples to rocks. My core clenched, feeding off his power, getting wet on the sheer deliciousness of having him near.
Oh, God.
After so much time apart, he was visceral, mystical, mythical in his power over me.
He had a magic—a spell that softened me, even while fear percolated in my blood. I knew he wasn’t safe, knew that I ought to scream and stab him, rather than grow wet and want him.
But I’d made a pact. I will be the last Weaver.
I had the strength to stand up to Jethro and his family. He was mine. I just had to make him accept it.
“I told you I would come for you.”
The shadows twisted, revealing him as he stepped from the pitch black, moving closer toward my bed. He was dressed in leather and denim; an outfit I’d seen Cut and Daniel wear but never Jethro. He was no longer an aristocrat but a biker. The embroidery on his jacket glinted, and his large boots were whisper-quiet on the carpet. He looked like the devil—a deliciously dark sinner who’d come to ravage and possess me.
Another ripple of desire shot through my belly.
The closer he came, the more the past month faded. The lostness, the incessant vertigo, the lack of conviction I’d suffered ever since leaving just disappeared.
It was as if I’d never left Hawksridge. I couldn’t imagine why I would.
I can think why.
A torrent of torture and threats filled my mind. Cut and Daniel and Kes. They were my true enemies. Did I really want to go back there? I doubted I would get a second chance to escape.
I know what I have to do.
I knew how to end this. I knew how to save Jethro. And I was prepared to do anything to make that happen.
“Hello, Kite,” I murmured.
Jethro sucked in a breath, his chest expanding as he closed the final distance and towered over my bed. His heavy clothes couldn’t hide his sensual bulk. Every time he breathed, a soft creak of leather filled the silence. The thread used to stitch the diamond on his front pocket glinted in the moonlight.
I’d never seen him in full motorcycle regalia.
It did terrible things to my core. I couldn’t stop my craving—the heat in my blood or the wetness gathering between my legs. My mouth tingled to touch his, to bite his bottom lip and suck his tongue.
The room turned static. The hair on my arms stood up at the very thought of Jethro shrugging out of his jacket and climbing on top of me.
He swallowed, his eyes glittering dangerously. Holding up a small packet of powder, he whispered, “Do I need to drug you again, or will you come willingly?” He bent over me, his long fingers tracing my leg beneath the covers.
I trembled, frozen…desperate for him to drop the act and end the chilliness between us.
We’d been so close. Connected. Something sinister slipped over my thoughts. Something’s wrong.
“I asked you a question, Ms. Weaver.” His gaze dropped to my legs, his fingers tugging at the sheets. Inch by inch, he pulled, sliding the warmth down.
I didn’t say a word as he revealed my camisole, black satin shorts, and legs; the same legs itching to wrap around his hips while he took me hard.
“I missed you.” I couldn’t look away. The night beneath Hawksridge—the way he’d touched me in the springs and brought me back to life—made my heart swell.
He hadn’t said the words. But I’d felt his submission.
He’d fallen, too.
Just as hard as me.
Removing his hand from my covers, he tucked the drug packet back into his breast pocket. “Let me explain what will happen if you don’t honour your invitation and come with me.” His voice slipped into emotionless chill. “Vaughn and your father are asleep inside this house. They no longer have the interest of the press or media, and it would bring me great pleasure to teach your twin a lesson. Two seconds is all it would take to remove them from any future problems.” He bared his teeth. “They deserve it after the mess they’ve caused.”
Anxiety crept higher up my spine. His temper swirled around us as if we stood in the centre of a blizzard. I was used to that with Jethro. But whereas before I could sense something warm beneath his rage…now, there was nothing.
Touch him. Thaw him.
Swinging my legs out of bed, I gripped the edge of the mattress. “I said I would come with you and I meant it.” I did my best to hide my building terror. “Leave them alone. This is between you and me.” Taking a deep breath, I stood, bracing myself for a vertigo attack.
So many times over the past month, I would stumble whenever I stood. But this time…I remained stable.
My eyes widened, drinking in Jethro.
He does fix me.
He gave me too much to think about. Too much to analyse and read into. My brain was too frantic trying to see between his words to give into a useless imbalance.
“Did you come last night?” I murmured, remembering our messages.
His jaw clenched. “What happened last night or any other night no longer has any relevance in your future.”
I shook my head, my heart smarting with pain. “What happened to you?” I reached for him, wanting to clutch his forearm and reassure myself that our bond was still there.
With a sneer, he sidestepped, staying out of reach. “What happened to me?” Smiling coldly, he made me seem as if I were some idiot child asking for the universe’s secrets. “I got better. That’s what happened to me.”