The Highest Price to Pay. Maisey Yates

bought my business loan, you didn’t buy me,” she said finally, her voice low, trembling.

      “I had not forgotten.”

      “So what was it then, morbid curiosity? It’s called a burn scar, I got in a house fire. I would have thought you’d have read that somewhere by now. The Courier did a particularly nice article on the subject, if you’re interested.”

      Ella’s heart thundered heavily, her stomach churning. She hated that. Hated that the simple touch had done that to her. Every insecurity, every shortcoming felt like it had been thrown in her face, had been brought to glaring light.

      She hated that the scars still made her feel that way. No matter how much she pretended to be fine with them, she still hated what she saw when she looked in the mirror. Hated the feel of them beneath her fingertips when she scrubbed herself in the shower.

      No one ever…no one had ever touched them like that. The way he moved his thumb over the marks on her hand, the way he’d stroked her neck.

      Only one man had ever put his hands on her scars, and that had only been with the intent of humiliating her, which he very thoroughly had.

      Her mother and father had stopped touching her altogether after the fire. No loving embraces, no casual brushes of their hands. Nothing but cold distance as they wrapped themselves in their guilt. Even her pain became about them.

      The soft, hot graze of Blaise’s fingers had hit her with the force of an electric shock, shaken her out of her thoughts, tiny sparks of sensation continuing along her veins well after the initial contact. And then she had looked at him. At the smooth, mahogany perfection of his skin. She had been reminded then, of why she shouldn’t let him touch her.

      The stark realization had made her feel like she was drowning in shame and she didn’t want him to see it. She didn’t even want to acknowledge it to herself. Even now she wanted to break free of his arms and run out of the club. But she felt paralyzed, trapped. They were the focus of every guest in attendance and she knew there were reporters. She didn’t want a reputation as the woman who ran out of a party like Cinderella fleeing the ball.

      She was strong. She wasn’t running.

      “I suppose since you’re in the habit of taking what doesn’t belong to you, it didn’t occur to you I might not be willing,” she said, compelled to make him feel as exposed as she was. “Businesses. Women.”

      The change in his face wasn’t drastic, but his eyes turned to golden ice, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I only take what is not well guarded. Your business for example—if you weren’t in so much debt, my power would be minimal.”

      “I see. So you’re blaming me for this. Does that mean your brother is to blame for you stealing his fiancée? It was right before the wedding, right? You slept with her in their bed and then went public with her, touching and kissing her at every hot spot in town.” The ice in his eyes melted, leaving a blazing fire, and every part of her body burned. She tilted her chin up. “You said every story written about you in the tabloids was true. Unarguably, that is what you’re best known for.”

      He didn’t flinch, the barb glancing off his granite defenses.

      “Clearly you’ve done your research, but none of this is new information to me.”

      She had. She’d looked him up on the internet. And she’d allowed all manner of righteous indignation flood over her as she’d read about the betrayal of his brother because it allowed her to be angry at him. And being angry at him was so much safer than feeling anything else.

      “I know my part in that incident very well,” he said, his voice toneless. “I was very much involved, after all.”

      “A pirate in all manner of things,” she said.

      “I had never thought of it that way. But it’s a nice way to romanticize it,” he said, his voice a near whisper, his face so near hers now that it made her lips tingle.

      “I’m not romanticizing. I find nothing appealing about a man with no honor.”

      He released his hold on her, strong, square hands curling into fists, the tendons becoming more prominent, showing the weight of the gesture and the intensity of the emotion behind it, even though his face remained smooth, unreadable.

      “Honor. An interesting concept, one I’ve yet to bear witness to.”

      Join the club. She wasn’t sure how much honor she’d ever seen in her life. As a teenager, stuck in a hospital room, it had made a nice fantasy. A knight in shining armor riding in on his steed. But she’d given up on that by the time she’d reached the end of high school.

      And instead of a knight on his steed she got a buccaneer on his galleon intent on plundering twenty-five percent of her gold. Brilliant.

      She looked up and his eyes locked with hers, she felt the heat again, inside this time, making her blood feel like warm honey in her veins, the ensuing languor making her reserve, her anger, begin to evaporate.

      How did he do that? How did he make her melt inside with just a look?

      Her lips suddenly felt dry and she darted her tongue out quickly, dampening them. She watched as his eyes followed the motion and she felt a yawning, aching sensation open up inside of her. She knew what it was. It was arousal, and she wasn’t a stranger to it. She’d just never been in a man’s arms while experiencing it. Had never had the object of her desire so close that she could place her hand on the hard wall of his chest if she chose to.

      This wasn’t a safe fantasy in the privacy of her bedroom. Not a dim, gauzy dream that sent vague sensations of pleasure rolling through her. This was a real, live, man. And he was looking at her lips with much more than just a passing interest.

      No wonder his brother’s fiancée hadn’t said no. No wonder she had broken her commitment to be with him. He was temptation incarnate. His eyes, his chiseled physique, promised a woman pleasure beyond fantasy.

      Oh, yes, what a fantasy. She flashed back to his finger skimming her scar. It wouldn’t be a fantasy for him; it would be a waking nightmare. And she couldn’t even fathom the thought of him seeing her, all of her. The idea was too horrifying to even contemplate.

      And why was she thinking of it at all? It was like there was a war going on in her. Common sense versus basic instincts. It was a good thing she’d gained control over that basic part of herself a long time ago.

      It suddenly felt unbearably hot, even though she was certain the temperature couldn’t have actually changed. Or maybe it had. Maybe more people had filed into the small club and that was it. It couldn’t really be him, his gaze, making her feel dizzy with heat.

      He leaned in slightly and she didn’t move, she stayed, rooted to the spot, keeping her eyes on his as he drew nearer to her. Her eyes tried to flutter closed and she caught them, wouldn’t allow it.

      She still didn’t move away.

      He stopped suddenly, his lips so near hers she could feel the heat of them. “Don’t worry. I don’t need to possess honor to help make you a very rich woman. In fact, it helps that I don’t.”

      The gauzy curtain of arousal that had been shrouding them lifted suddenly and broke her trance as effectively as a gust of icy wind.

      “I’m ready to leave,” she said, stepping away from him, finally.

      “I’ll stay,” he said, golden gaze already wandering. He would probably stay and find some slim, sexy socialite to hook up with.

      It made her feel ill, and it shouldn’t make her feel anything at all.

      “Good. Great. Have fun.”

      She turned and walked out of the club, embracing the chill of the night air as it hit her face. She needed it, needed a good dose of reality. What had happened in there wasn’t real. It wasn’t possible for a woman like her. And even if it were, she couldn’t think of a single man she should want less.