I back away for a minute and her body follows mine, seeking it out.

“Tell me,” I say again.

Her eyes flitter open. “I can’t,” she says so quietly I almost don’t hear it.

“You can’t do this or you can’t say it?”

She peers up at me through lust-ridden eyes and bites her lip. Testing my theory, I slowly pull her arms from the wall and wrap them around my neck. She blushes red but willingly complies and holds on to me. With my hands now free, I slide them down her hips and to the ass I’ve admired from afar for days. I pick her up and back her against the wall again. A gush of air leaves her lips. I almost slam my mouth over hers to eat it up but I want to savor every single second of this moment.

Instead, I inch forward and appreciate her rapid pulse, her heavy breathing, the kiss of her breath stroking my lips right before I seal my mouth to hers.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think her lips were petals. They’re velvety soft and smooth. Her tongue is tentative and shy at first, but as I explore her mouth and stroke it to life, she responds and makes these small needy sounds that drive me fucking insane. Little by little, I lose control and deepen the kiss, taking everything I need.

This feeling is a high I’ve never known. A heady bliss that has escaped me until now. And it has every one of my nerve ends tingling.

I’ve dreamed about her hands on my skin. I’ve imagined her nails sinking into my back and her lips on mine, and I finally fucking have my wish. Even her legs, which I’ve been obsessed with, are now wrapped around my waist. But I’m not taking her here. In Dozer’s room. On his bed. I’m taking her for the first time where she belongs. In mine.

“I need you in my bed, Doll,” I tell her before I sweep my tongue over her bottom lip. But midway her mouth loses some of it softness.

Her entire body turns tense. Her arms pull away. “Stop.” She’s pushes on my chest and fights to get free of me so I relax my hold. When she still scrambles in my arms, I set her down.

She pushes me back a step. I try to eliminate the space she’s putting between us, but she snaps, “Stop, Mav.” Certainty’s in her tone now and her palm is hard against my chest.

I search her eyes and see none of the lust that was there before, only panic. “What’s wrong?” I know immediately I’ve fucked up again, because her emotions—mainly anger and embarrassment—flicker over her face.

“What’s wrong?” She looks away and mumbles again, “What’s wrong.” Then she looks up at me and points to her neck. “I have stitches today because of you. You attacked me last night. With a knife, I might add. We can’t just have sex and forget it happened. Maybe the girls around here work that way, but I don’t. God, do you realize you haven’t even apologized?”

“I’m sor—”

“I don’t want your apology now that I’ve had to ask you for it. And yeah, I might have kissed you, but that doesn’t mean I forgive you. Very far from it.” She shakes her head and places her fingers over her mouth.

I pull her hand away from her mouth and she glares up at me. I use it to pull her close. Then rubbing her cheekbone with my thumb, I tell her, “I’m not gonna make a lame excuse because I can’t fix what I did last night with words. I know that. But I can promise it won’t fuckin’ happen again. My past is now where it belongs. Behind me. And the last thing I want to do is hurt you again. If you’ll let me, I’ll make it up to you.”

“How do I know you won’t turn around and decide to hate me tomorrow?”

“I never hated you. Yeah, at first, I thought you were like her and it fucked me up. But you’re not like her. Not even close. You’re the opposite of everything she was. I see that now.”

I brush my thumb over her swollen bottom lip.

She clenches her eyes shut and shakes her head again. “I’m not just some toy for you to play with. I know you like control, Mav. I’ve seen it. You like rough and tying girl’s down. I can’t . . . the things you like, I’m not into.”

Fuck . . .

Pain ricochets around in my chest. Fuuuck. I grip her face with both hands. I need her to listen and really hear me. “I know that. I know you deserve better.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Do you?”

I nod once. “Yeah . . . I do. I’m paying attention now, Doll, and I fuckin’ see you.”

The silence stretches between us, creating an impenetrable barrier. A barrier I can’t pierce. There’s a wall between us where there wasn’t one before. For a moment, I’ve had her soft in my arms. But somewhere along the way, I’ve lost her.

She throws my words back at me.

“Prove it.”

My desire for her grows. The need coiling through me screams for me to make her mine. Christ, she fuckin’ perfect.

She has the balls to put me in my place. That’s the kind of woman I need. One who fucking cares enough to fight with me, and call me on my shit, day in and day out, if I’m not givin’ her what she needs. She’s not a runner . . . she’s a fighter.

I smile. Because whether she knows it or not, she just made herself mine. “If that’s what you need me to do. I’ll do it. Whatever it takes.” After everything I’ve put her through, she’s entitled to some proof I can be what she needs.

She pulls out of my arms and this time I let her go. “Don’t you have company downstairs?”

Oh, shit. I forgot why I came up here in the first place.

“Yes. But they sent me up here.” She gives me a bewildered expression. “The old ladies wanna meet you.”

She wraps one arm around her stomach and holds onto it with her other hand over her elbow. “Is that a good idea?”

I wish I could tell her yes, or not to be nervous, but the fact is she probably should be prepared and no . . . it’s not a good idea. I sigh and rub my head a couple of times. “Probably not. But they aren’t askin’, if you know what I mean.”

She considers me for a minute, and then nods. “Okay. Just let me put on a different top.” She walks passed me into the closet and a moment later comes out wearing jean shorts, and a soft pink long sleeve shirt. I’m confused for a second. She has to know it’s hot outside. Why the long sleeves?

It’s not until I see her tug the fabric down over her wrists that it dawns on me.

She comes closer and I grab her hands. Like I did the first day we met, I rub the scars on her wrists with my thumb. She tries to jerk her hands back, but I hold on tighter. The scars are jagged and uneven, one worse than the other. I don’t believe she tried to kill herself. But it scares me that there’s the chance I’m wrong.

“How?”

She huffs.

“Doll, I’m trying to not to be an asshole or jump to conclusions. I’m tryin’ to get to know you. Tell me how you got the scars.”

“Maybe you don’t deserve to know.”

“No doubt I don’t. But I’m askin’ anyway.”

She’s scowls.

“I’ll wait all damn day if that’s what it takes. But too much longer and they’re gonna send a search party for us.”

After a few seconds of testing my resolve, her stubbornness falters. “It was the only way I could get away from my ex.” I furrow my brow. She lets out a long breath and explains, “He liked having control, too. He didn’t want me to leave. Sounds familiar, huh?”

Yeah, Doll. Sounds familiar. But you’re still not going anywhere.

“I hurt myself on some metal while trying to get away.”

I sense there is a lot more to the story than she’s telling me, but I think I’ve pushed her enough for now.

She’s giving me a guarded look, as if she’s waiting for me to judge her. But she doesn’t realize I’m finally seeing her for who she is. She doesn’t have a black heart. If she left him, she had a good reason to. And she doesn’t know this, but I’ve seen her other scars. I’ve seen the damage someone’s done. Most likely him.

“Knowin’ you, Doll, he deserved that and more.”

She frowns. “I think you need medication for your multiple personality disorder.”