Forbidden (Blood Ties #7)

It wasn’t a question, but a demand.

I lifted my gaze. The room shimmered again, then my squint sharpenedon him.

My name…my…name…my stomach rolled as I tried to remember what the hell had just happened. The car…the rain…thegoddamn rain. I opened my mouth to speak but my tongue was slow to work.

“Helene,” I slurred. “Helene.”King.“Montgomery.”

“Helene Montgomery.” He rolled the name around on the tip of his tongue and took a swallow, watching me with that stare that looked right through me.

He was waiting.

Waiting for me to panic.

To start screaming and pulling at the tethers around my wrists.

My dress was hitched up around my waist, my knees open and my panties on full display.

He looked at them…no, not looked.He stared. My body recoiled and muscles inside clenched tight.

“You stepped out in front of my car.” He lifted his gaze to mine. “Where were you going?”

Lies blended with reality. I licked my lips. “On a date.”

“A date.” His gaze returned to my panties. “They say if a man takes a woman home and she’s wearing matching underwear, it was he who decided to have sex that night.”

He moved to the side of where I sat and reached out, slid his finger under the strap of my black dress, and dragged it down, revealing my mocha brown lace bra, the one that matched my panties.

I lifted my gaze to his. He was still waiting for me to crack, wasn’t he? Pushing me to find out just how much terror I’d endure. I held that stare defiantly. He tugged harder, exposing the tops of my full breasts and the raised pink slash of a scar.

My scars.

I swallowed hard. My milky white thighs parted, the scars on them still hidden from view. But all it’d take would be one tug of my dress and he’d see.

Please, God.

Don’t let him see.

There was a tiny scowl, a pinching between his brows.

I wasn’t reacting like he expected me to react.

“On a date,” he said carefully. “With whom?”

Whom?

I licked my arid lips. My mind raced, pulling a name from thin air. “Michael DiAngelo.”

A twitch came at the corner of his eye. He fixed that cold stare on mine. “Michael Di Angelo,” he repeated, his voice deepening. “And what does Michael DiAngelo do for a living?”

My breaths raced. “He’s a…he’s an elementary school teacher.”

He looked down at the tops of my breasts. “And was this your first date?”

I swallowed hard.No. No more twenty fucking questions.

“Was this your first date?”he growled, baring his teeth.

Memories of that second before the accident came rushing back. He was a dark blur…a dark blur that curled his lips like an animal.