He truly believed it. Kia stared up at him, shaking inside and out, so furious and so filled with disbelief that she could barely make sense of her own emotions.
"I asked you to leave," she said carefully, staring at him with steely resolve. "I deserve more than this, Chase. More than a man who believes I'm too weak for a relationship with him. Perhaps you're the one with the fault. Perhaps you're too weak for a relationship with me."
The challenge. Chase felt his c**k harden to impossible degrees.
Damn her. He'd never reacted to a woman like this, no matter the defiance or the challenge. Never before had he wanted to make one scream for pleasure or beg to submit as he wanted this one to do.
Before she could stop him, he had her pressed against the wall, her arms over her head, her wrists shackled in his hand. She showed no fear. He didn't want her frightened of him, but had always worried she would be if she saw what he was inside.
The man who could kill. The man who needed the flaming lust, the challenge, the defiance she was giving him now. He had never seen this side of her, but somehow, he knew, he had always sensed it. Known it was there. And had fought giving it a chance to face him.
But it was only her anger. That stubbornness he saw in her eyes wouldn't make the long haul in a relationship with him. When he was dark and moody, she would cry. If he snapped at her, she would be hurt. If he dared to take her harder or stronger, or challenged her to stretch her sexuality, she would never know how to set her limits.
She wouldn't know her own boundaries, only his. And that would destroy both of them.
"You're right." He stepped back from her. "You deserve better."
He watched as she lifted her chin, her arms moving to her sides as she stepped away from him, walked to the door, and opened it before turning to face him.
"You're damned right I do."
"This won't change anything, Kia," he told her. "The next party, the next ball, we'll end up exactly as we ended up tonight."
"Bet me!" Her nostrils flared, her blue eyes hardened to gemstone brightness in her pale face.
With her hair mussed from their lovemaking, her neck still showing the scrape of whisker burn, and her lips swollen from his kisses, she looked like an enraged sex goddess.
And he wasn't about to bet her, because he knew the truth of it. He was hurting her, hurting them both, and he hated it. But he was learning. Staying away from her was impossible, and after tonight it would be even more so.
"Goodbye, Chase." Her lips thinned, her expression so filled with feminine purpose that he felt like an animal ready to rut.
He didn't trust himself to speak. He nodded sharply and left, bracing himself for the slam of the door as he walked past her.
A second later, he flinched and paused as the door closed softly, deliberately, the lock snicking into place. He clenched his teeth and stalked to the elevator.
She would see that the next time it would be harder, faster, burning hotter, and hurting deeper. He could feel the ragged wounds ripping through his soul now. The force, the control it took to walk away from her, as it always did to walk away whenever his emotions were involved.
She was his weakness. He was hers. And until he could get a handle on the dark emotions ripping him apart, he didn't dare give her any more than he was giving her now.
Because once she learned what being with him meant, dealing with him day after day, she would know it wasn't that easy. And she might well learn that Chase Falladay didn't let go of anything that belonged to him.
He had every possession now that he had ever owned in his life. He hoarded them. He guarded them. He f**king ensured they stayed his. And if he ever claimed Kia as his, then he had no doubt in his mind that she would live to regret it.
They both would. Because he'd never let her go. She would become his soul. And if Chase ever had to watch his soul walk away, it would destroy him.
Chapter 14
Kia clenched her hands into fists, then forced herself to relax them before dashing the tears from her eyes.
Crying wasn't going to fix this any more than it had fixed her marriage to Drew or her own hurt pride. It wasn't going to help her solve the problems in her life, nor was it going to ease the horrible, gripping awareness that she was unable to hold the one man who fascinated her.
She inhaled roughly, glanced at the clock to check the time, then stalked to the phone. She punched the speed dial with a stab of her finger and waited as her father's cell phone rang.
"What's wrong, baby?" Her father's concerned voice came over the line, and another tear fell.
"I'll be in the office in the morning," she told him. "I'm calling the lawyer, and Drew can shove his damned alimony, but if you fire him or attempt to destroy him, I'll work for your competitor. Are we clear?"
There was silence. She had helped her father on the side for years with the coordination of deliveries and schedules, making suggestions and incorporating some of the ideas she'd had when she'd held the position before her marriage. Drew had demanded she give up the job, but she had kept her hand in, as well as her opinions. After her divorce, she had become more active, but hadn't taken a position officially because she knew her alimony was the only thing that kept her father from destroying Drew.
It wasn't all Drew's fault. He had frightened her, yes. Infuriated her and hurt her when he struck her. But the grief her father could give him would have destroyed his life. He hadn't destroyed hers. She hadn't wanted his destroyed either.
"I'm the boss, little girl. You don't order me," he growled back at her.
"And I'm your daughter. You taught me how to play dirty," she reminded him. "I'm certain Johannes Logistics would love to snap me right up. What do you think?"
Timothy Rutherford grinned in spite of himself. He sat back in his chair and glanced at his wife where she sat with her sister, Jillian Edgewood, and brother-in-law, Harvey.
Celia was watching with an edge of hope, listening to his end of the conversation silently. This was the daughter they had despaired of seeing again. In her voice, he could hear the confidence and, yes, the anger. Something had finally pushed her, finally pissed her off enough to make her recover the woman within the confused young woman he had known for the past two years.
"Nine o'clock in the morning," he growled. "In my office."
She gave a little sniff. "I'll be there at eight. There are a few things I want to clear up with you before I begin cleaning up the mess I'm certain awaits me in the office."