Page 16 of Forged in the Fire
To have to wrestle out of his hold.
But the second I said it, his hand was gone.
It sent me lurching forward, and I barely caught myself before I fell to my knees.
I whirled back in his direction.
I shouldn’t have.
I should have remained facing away.
Or better yet, I should have remained locked in the confines of that room upstairs.
I definitely should not have been standing so close to Silas Mercer right then.
Half concealed in the shadows created by the branches of the trees, though silvered moonlight dabbled down through the leaves to illuminate his face.
The man was all sharp angles. Like one of those animations where his jaw and cheeks were drawn with a single, slashedstroke. So defined you could take a ruler to it, and it wouldn’t go out of line.
Brow just as severe.
Too violently beautiful to be real.
Wearing dark jeans and a black shirt, the sinewy muscle that outlined his deadly frame carved in the same severe striations.
But where things got dicey were with his eyes and lips.
That was where the harsh, flat planes came alive.
Expressive and roiling.
Teeth clamped down on his plush bottom lip and the flecks of green in his hazel eyes glowing like he was a beast.
Hunted.
That’s what I’d been.
I bet he knew the second I sneaked out of that room.
His head canted to the side. “Is that what you are, Brinley? Up to no good?”
I searched for the missing oxygen, forcing myself to get it together. I was not about to let this man see me flustered.
I searched around for a good excuse.
“I was looking for something to drink.”
“And a full refrigerator wasn’t enough for you?”
Right.
There was that mini fridge in the closet. You know, stocked full of every drink imaginable. The selection was far better than the last hotel I stayed at.
They should win a medal for being such good hostage hosts.
I tipped up my chin. “I wanted ice.”
A slow, wicked smile crept to Silas’s obscenely handsome face, and he took a measured step forward.
