ELIZABETH HERALD
Blake's grip on my wrist was firm, his thumb pressing into my pulse point like he could measure the riot beneath my skin. Don't run. As if I hadn't spent half my life doing exactly that.
I yanked my arm free. "I'm not running." Liar.
His jaw ticked. "Then stay."
The fire crackled, casting shadows that made his expression unreadable. The taste of him still lingered on my lips—whiskey and something darker, something that made my knees weak. But Blair's words slithered between us like poison. Rehab. Psychiatric facility. Crazy.
I backed toward the door. "Your guest just outed my entire tragic backstory. Pretty sure that kills the mood."
Blake moved faster than I expected, caging me against the bookshelf again. His voice dropped, rough as the spines digging into my back. "You think I care about any of that?"
"You should."
"Why? Because your sister thinks she can scare me off?" His breath warmed my ear. "I don't frighten easily, Elizabeth."
