Hans (Alliance #4)

And for some reason… he’s mad.

I reach for the book, but his free hand darts out and grips my wrist, holding it between us.

He lowers his gaze from mine, and I know the moment he looks past the hand he’s holding captive and to my chest.

His nostrils flare, and I swear his jaw clenches.

And in reaction, my already tight nipples harden further against my thin shirt. The fabric feels like sweet torture, and knowing he’s looking sends a jolt down my belly to between my legs.

I try to remember what he was saying. I’m pretty sure Hans asked me a question.

But all I can concentrate on is his nearness. The heat of his body so close to mine. The way the skin on my wrist feels under his grip.

I inhale, trying to clear my thoughts, but it doesn’t work. Because it just fills my final sense with him. This man and pine scent. The one that haunts me through this house whenever I think too much about him.

“Hans.” His name comes out as a whisper.

He shifts closer, our hands now pressed between our bodies. “Who took the photos, Cassandra?”

Cassandra.

My name said in his voice… Why is it so sinful?

“Who?” he repeats.

“It was a photographer,” I answer like a moron.

“Give me his name.” Hans leans closer.

And I feel…

My body arches on its own against him.

He’s hard.

For me.

Satisfied pride swamps me.

I don’t know what’s going on. This is the most Hans has ever said to me.

He’s in my house. Barged in without an invitation. Shouting my name. Because he’s turned on. And…

Wait.

“Are you jealous?” I can’t keep the inappropriate excitement out of my tone.

He lowers the hand holding the book.

I don’t turn away from him, but I watch from the corner of my eye as he tucks the book behind the back cushion on my couch.

Then, with his hand empty, he reaches up and grips the base of my ponytail. “Don’t push me, Butterfly.”

His hold is tight, and with the smallest tug, he tips my head back.

My body lights all the way up.

He shifts forward again, not stopping until our bodies are flush and I’m thoroughly trapped between him and the back of the couch. “Tell me who took them and who you took them for. I won’t ask you again.”