Tied to His Betrayal Read online

  I part my lips and then shut them. Her confidence astounds me. She may be a good foot shorter and nearly half my size, but her heart and her bravery shine through. It’s sexy and beautiful in one big sweep.

  “Hadley,” I eventually say sternly, reminding her that this is a bad idea.

  “Ryder,” she whispers back, begging me to change my mind.

  I’m fighting to keep my feet firmly on the ground, forcing myself back to where she sends me. This is a game we play, she and I. But the game needs to stop. This little firecracker, who’s wise beyond her years, is going to make me do things I never do: Break my oath to my duty.

  “Do you want my help or not?” I ask, bringing us back to the task at hand.

  She blinks; clearly the spell of desire is broken now, and disappointment darkens her eyes. “Thanks and all, but I think I can find a man myself.” Her voice is devoid of emotion, the moment we had now gone completely.

  I stay on the spot, curling my toes in my boots, afraid if I move I’ll do something I shouldn’t. When she walks by me, obviously annoyed at me now, my head is foggy. I reach out without considering the consequences and grasp her bare arm. Her soft gasp is a jolt straight to my cock, hardening me so fast I bite back a groan.

  “Whatever you do, do not trust anyone right now,” I tell her.

  She pauses, eyes searching mine. Concern hard on her features. “Are you in trouble?”

  “It’s trouble that I can handle.” The warmth of her flesh heats my palm, all too inviting. “But the situation with the tabloids is a concern, especially considering they’ve brought you into this alongside me. Please just be careful.” I slowly release her arm, and her nostrils flare, as if she’s consumed by the overwhelming need to draw in my scent as much as I am hers.

  “Don’t worry about me, Blackwood,” she says gently. “I’ll be safe. Promise.” The last thing I see is her smile before she vanishes through the doorway.

  The sassiness in that smile tests my control to remain professional. I stretch out my fingers, feeling my skin tingle, fighting against the desire to bring her back into my arms so I can finally curb my hunger for her.

  Frustrated, and enduring a raging hard-on, I open the magazine again and examine the photograph of her. She’s a beauty in bondage, and I ache to see her up close and personal this way. But I’m crippled all the same, unable to stop staring at the way the man’s hands are holding her arms tight.

  She’s not yours, echoes through me.

  That’s when I realize I might have a greater danger than the tabloids.

  Her.

  And what she’s doing to my goddamn head.

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