It was a perverse possessiveness. Every word he spoke was gentle, yet so warped it sent a faint chill creeping into her heart.
Unlike the cold, refined demeanor he showed the world, this was a deeper, more pathological madness, simmering just below the surface and ready to erupt at any moment.
Evelyn Grant trembled, a sudden fear gripping her heart.
The moment she pulled her head back slightly, the man's lips followed, closing over hers. He bit down, just hard enough to make her hiss in pain as he tugged.
"Why run?" A lustful tension settled between Preston Keaton's sharp brows. His long, cool fingers traced casually up her waistline. "Do you think you can escape? Hmm?"
Unsure if his words held a deeper meaning, Evelyn Grant whimpered, enduring the pressure on both her body and soul. A fine sheen of sweat covered her.
