Heir to a Desert Legacy. Maisey Yates

brought you here,” he growled, circling the long table slowly, his fingertips brushing the top of each chair he passed, “at your request.”

      All of the emotion, the intensity from the past few weeks, threatened to overwhelm Chloe. She was past the point of reason now. She was nothing more than a burning ball of kinetic energy, the forward motion unstoppable. She’d held it in for too long, let it build as she sat in her apartment, numbed by shock.

      But the shock was gone now, and the trajectory of her emotions set. “Because I couldn’t just let you take him!”

      “I was hardly going to tear him from your arms.” But he would have. They both knew it.

      “But you were going to take him. As soon as possible.”

      “It’s what needed to be done. It has nothing to do with you. None of this has anything to do with you,” he said, his voice hard, simmering with barely contained anger. “You were the vessel. Nothing more.”

      She’d only ever felt the desire to hurt one other human being physically. Had only ever had to fight the urge to stop herself from attacking one other man. She’d never followed through on the feral, savage desire to hurt her father because she’d seen exactly what he could do with his fists. Had seen that he wouldn’t hesitate to hit a woman. Not just once, but until she could no longer get back up.

      But she didn’t care about the consequences now. She wanted to hit Sayid, with everything in her. Inflict pain on him for hurting her with his words. For telling the truth.

      For saying that Aden was nothing more than her nephew, even though she’d carried him in her body. Given birth to him. In the big picture, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t hers and she had no claim on him. But spoken from that arrogant mouth, with such harshness, it was more than she could stand. The truth of it so raw and evident, so unwanted.

      She stepped toward him without thinking, just as he rounded to her side of the table, her fist pulled back. He caught her arm, stopping her, tugging her up against him.

      “You think you could hurt me?” he asked, his hand fitted securely around her arm without causing her any pain. His strength was so great, he didn’t seem to be exuding any force. It only made her angrier. And now that the dam had burst on her control, she couldn’t stop it all from pouring out.

      “I might have been able to break your nose. It doesn’t matter how much muscle you have, that’s still a susceptible spot.”

      “If you think a broken nose would hurt me… you have a limited understanding of what I am capable of. Of what I have endured.”

      He lowered his head, dark eyes boring into hers. Heat bloomed in her stomach, her muscles quivering. He smelled like sandalwood, and clean skin, and there was no reason for her to notice something like that. No reason at all.

      It wasn’t the smell she usually associated with men. Her father was alcohol, sweat and tobacco. Occasionally, blood.

      And as an adult, the only time she’d gotten close enough to a man to smell him was if they were sharing a microscope. And then he usually smelled like chemicals.

      “If I release you, will you promise to put your claws back in?” he asked.

      She shook her head. “Only if you watch what you say.”

      “Then we’re at an impasse because I don’t have to watch what I say.”

      “You’re right,” she said. “You do suck at diplomacy.”

      “I never claimed otherwise,” he said, his tone rough.

      “I don’t have to like what you say. And I don’t. Not at all.”

      “I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said, his voice low. “But I am telling you the truth. I’m not going to wrap the situation up as something else and try to make it more palatable. It is an ugly situation. Nothing about it is simple.” He released his hold on her and stepped back. “But we will survive it. As will Aden. If we do it right, he will thrive. This is about him. Not about us.”

      Her heart was thundering in her temples, her head spinning. She put her hand over the place where his fingers had been. Her skin was hot, not to the touch, but beneath the flesh. Inside of her. She’d never felt anything like it before. Didn’t understand how it was possible.

      “On that we can agree,” she said, aware, painfully, that she sounded breathless. That she was breathless.

      “Then perhaps we can put a halt on the dramatics?”

      “When you put a halt to your douche-baggery.”

      Dark brows locked together. “What is this word?”

      “It means you’re being a jerk. But more than a jerk even,” she said. “Worse.”

      “No one talks to me like this,” he said, his tone firm, not imperious. He was simply stating a fact, and she wasn’t all that surprised by it. She didn’t know why she felt empowered to speak to him like that. Maybe it wasn’t empowerment so much as a need to push him away. Anger was safer than the pull she felt toward him. Much safer.

      “No one who has any idea of how to act in polite company talks to people the way you do,” she said.

      “I spend a lot of time outside of polite company.”

      She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “Clearly.”

      “Our discussion is through.”

      “What about dinner?”

      “Suddenly, I am thinking I might take it in my room. Or an enemy prison. Either is preferable.”