I tiptoed my hand up to his face, my heart picking up speed as I stroked his bruise. Ballsy move, but I was afraid of him. Afraid that his frustration with me would swell and that he’d send me off back to the bedroom.

Fear is a prison, and in prison you played by different rules to survive.

Troy’s eyes narrowed on mine skeptically. The epitome of ruthless, his lips turned into a challenging smirk. “Prove you don’t hate me.”

And I did. I leaned up and pressed my lips against his softly.

I kissed him.

I kissed the husband I hated so much. Against reason, against logic, against everything my heart was telling me.

I kissed him because I wanted something from him. A job. A chance at happiness. Some freedom.

He fisted the hem of my nightshirt and in two big steps shoved me to the nearest wall, slamming me against it. My back felt the impact, and I arched to soothe the pain trickling down my spine. It felt different than the usual ache of flesh hitting concrete. Made my body buzz with something unfamiliar. Desire bit at my insides, and just like that, I got lost in his touch again.

His lips searched for mine angrily as he took one of my thighs and wrapped it around his waist, lifting me off the floor, only him and the wall supporting my weight. His erection pulsated beneath the fabric of his suit pants, and I resisted the instinct to grind against him. I lifted my arms to touch his smooth hair, running my hands down his slick mane.

He was a cheater.

A criminal.

A murderer.

And I was…fascinated.

If I was trapped in his golden cage, might as well enjoy the perks that came with it.

I traced his muscular chest with my fingers, roaming, exploring, longing. When my hands traveled down his abs, he stopped me, clasping my narrow wrist with his huge palm. I shrieked when I realized why.

“Careful now, Red,” he groaned into my mouth, removing my hand from his holster and catching my lower lip between his straight teeth.

Holy shit. I tried not to freak out and yell. I just touched a gun. I’d never touched one before, and even though I knew Pops owned one, I’d never seen it up-close.

“Oh.” I collected my wits, still flushed. “That was your gun? I thought you were just happy to see me.”

He laughed a hearty laugh and carried me with my legs wrapped tightly around him to the leather sofa. The persistent, cold summer rain knocked on the windows, but the living room felt hot and charged with what was happening between us.

What the hell was wrong with us? We couldn’t hold a five-minute conversation, and our only communication so far involved heavily making out and taunting each other like high school kids. Nevertheless, I felt like a bundle of quick-firing nerves in his arms.

“Troy…” I moaned his name into his mouth, giving in to the moment of sudden lust, tasting the Johnnie Walker Black Label on his breath and trying hard to suppress the memories that particular smell—a brand my father would never be able to afford—brought with it. The stranger who ruined me, whose name I never told anyone.

“Are you still on that period of yours?” He bit my neck, wrapping my hair around one of his fists and dragging his tongue down my cleavage. His other hand roamed my body—my chest, ass, legs—familiarizing himself with every angle and sliver of flesh.

I froze. Even though my body reacted to him like he was crack cocaine, my mind knew better than to jump into bed with a man who’d forced me to marry him. I didn’t know what the hell had come over me when I kissed him. Maybe I wanted to give this unwanted life a fair chance. Maybe it was the job. Hell, maybe it was just me being human. But it had to stop.

“Yes.” I stilled, our lips disconnecting. “Still on my period.”

“God-fucking-dammit,” he breathed into my mouth.

He peeled his suit coat off angrily, leaning backward to give me space at the same time. Disappointment crashed into me at the loss of his touch. His body was sculpted, strong, freaking perfect. And a part of me, an adventurous part, wanted to know what the girl down my hallway talked about when she said he fucked like an animal all those years ago.

Sleeping with him could be a dream or a nightmare. Either way, I refused to fall asleep.

“This was a mistake,” I said, my chest rising and falling to the rhythm of my heart.

“Fuck you.” He got up on his feet from the sofa, running his fingers through his raven black hair.

“Hey,” I argued softly, following his movement through my lashes, “I’m new to this.”

To you.

“Sparrow…” he sneered, shaking his head slowly, like I was a stupid kid. He never called me Sparrow, only Red, and my name sounded like a curse leaving his lips. “This is not junior high. I don’t need your wet, hesitant kisses.”