My eyes fell to her hands. Her index finger had a bright pink plaster on the tip—no doubt from pricking herself with a needle while working.

Needle.

What would she do if I were to suddenly call her Needle? What if I just admitted I was Kite? Would she hate me for the deception or be grateful that she no longer had to pretend?

Why had she not confronted Kestrel? And how much longer would she continue to avoid my text last night?

It fucked me off that I couldn’t drop my guard, knowing whatever she felt toward Kite transferred to my brother. He was winning, even while I stripped myself bare in the hopes of achieving the impossible.

Her eyes glinted. “Dammit, say something or go!”

Her voice jolted me back into the present. “I need you to come with me.”

“Why?”

“Why? You belong to me, that’s why. I don’t have to have a reason.”

Her knuckles turned white as she fisted the material. “Carry on being delusional, Mr. Hawk, but disappear so I don’t have to look at you.” She turned around, showing me her back.

Temper frothed in my gut. How dare she turn her back on me? I snapped my fingers, growling, “I won’t ask again. Come here.”

“You didn’t ask the first time. And don’t snap your fingers. I’m not a dog and I will not heel.” She wore a gypsy cream skirt and black sweater. With her spine ramrod straight, she looked haughty and as chilly as any sovereign.

My mouth watered to kiss her.

My cock twitched to fuck her.

My heart thumped with desire.

An argument brewed between us, gathering force until the curtains twitched with an animosity-storm.

“You’re right, you aren’t a dog. A dog is much easier to train.”

“Believe me, if I was a dog, my fangs would be buried in your arse, and you’d be pleading for mercy. I definitely wouldn’t be well-trained.”

My hands balled. A stupid flippant comment but it spiralled us deeper into a quarrel.

Just knowing she had the guts to stand up to me made me fucking hot. I wanted to bend her over the table and fuck her, hard and ruthless.

Were all Weavers like her? Strong willed and contentious or was she unique—a once in a lifetime adversary?

“Turn around. Look at me.”

If she did, I’d give into the throbbing in my cock and make my father wait.

“No. I don’t want to look at a Hawk.” Her voice was sharp and cutting. Whatever liveliness she’d had before had disappeared—almost as if she’d left her soul where her family lay on the moor.

Her dismissal and obvious unaffectedness of our pointless argument tensed my muscles.

Didn’t my desire for her mean anything? Didn’t my text help her see me? The real me? Surely, the truth granted me some leeway for forgiveness.

I stepped forward. I wanted to curse her for making me this way. This weak. “Last night—” I gave you more honesty in one text message than I’ve given anyone. Who was I kidding? She didn’t fucking care. She shouldn’t fucking care.

Grow a pair, fuckwit, and forget about whatever connection you thought you had.

Nila spun around; her cheeks dotted red with rage. “Last night! You dare talk to me about last night? Where I spent the evening mourning family members that were subjected to the likes of you?”

The weakness she conjured inside switched to fury. I stormed forward, towering over her. “I told you not to go up the path, Ms. Weaver. Whatever you’re feeling is your fault, not mine.” Moving fast, I snatched her elbow and jerked her from the bench. “Enough. I’m done reliving something I had no part in.” Shaking her, I dragged her from the puddle of fabric heading for the exit.

My fingers tingled from touching her. My lungs eagerly inhaled the unique scent of cotton, chalk, and Nila. If I wasn’t so damn angry, her smell would’ve entranced me. It would’ve granted a tiny oasis from everything else I dealt with.

“Let go of me, you arsehole!” She squirmed in my hold.

“No, not until you learn how to behave.”

“How about you learn to behave, you cold-hearted-emotionally-screwed-up-jerk!”

I slammed to a halt. “Careful, Ms. Weaver.”

She stabbed me in the chest with her fingertip, a maniacal laugh escaping her perfect lips. “God, you’re—I don’t know what you are. I think your rule of not letting people call you mad or insane is because it isn’t a slur, but the truth. You’re bonkers, Jethro Hawk. And you can hit me for saying it—but it’s about time someone pointed out the obvious.” Her voice dropped to a murmur. “You’re a nutcase. Completely cuckoo.”

I’d never suffered a barrage of words so fucking painful.

Grabbing her by the diamond collar, I shoved her backward until her spine hit the wall. Dropping my head so my mouth lingered above hers, I whispered, “And you’re the Weaver who let a psychotic Hawk between your legs. You’re the one who’s damned, not me. I have an excuse for what I am. You? You have no excuse but getting wet all over—what did you call me—a nutcase Hawk.”

Her lips twisted into a snarl. I tensed for her barrage.

Our eyes locked with fury.

Then something happened.

Something switched.

Fury became desire.

Desire became insanity.

I couldn’t withstand the command.

“Fuck this.”

I kissed her.

She cried out as my lips slammed down on hers. In a seamless move, I pressed my entire body along Nila’s twisting one, pinning her unforgivingly against the wall. My leg jammed between hers, opening her wide, crushing my thigh against her clit.