Page 132 of Perfect Liar

Thomas had been wrong, though, because I could totally imagine it. I’d experienced Will’s strength the night he took me hard against the attic wall…unbridled, wild strength…the kind used to take someone’s life.

John pounded his fist against his palm.

“You’re not ready at all…get out of your head, and let’s go,” he said.

All at once, I nodded, John swung at me, and Will appeared over John’s shoulder.

I took the blow on my face, the force of it knocking me right on my ass. My vision faded, the light giving way to nothingness for a few seconds, then it slowly came back to me.

A thud smacked against the wall, and Will snarled, the sounds registering in my ears before my rattled brain understood what had happened.

Shaking my head, I swiped at unshed tears, now seeing how Will held his brother against the wall by his throat.

“Don’t ever hit her again, John,” he said.

“Will, stop it,” I shouted.

And he did. He let John go and turned to me with my ass still planted on the floor.

I glanced at John for a second. He crouched forward with his hands on his knees, working to catch his breath. He lifted his face enough to see me.

“I’m so sorry,” I mouthed at him.

Will already stood over me before I could search for him. He pulled me onto my feet and held my face in his hands while examining my eyes.

“Look at me. Can you see me clearly? Are you all right, Elle?”

His warm spicy scent saturated my senses, and I wanted to bury myself in it forever.

I grabbed on to his hands and held them tightly.

“Yes, I’m okay…it’s okay,” I said.

My heart banged inside my chest as we stared at each other. I wanted him desperately and yet I hesitated to say so. Why was I so damn upset with him? I’d missed him, for God’s sake. And I had no right to be angry with him. He’d been grieving when he left…broken.

He had always been the broken one.

His father and I had broken him.

Richard Hastings had forced his son to be his soldier, a killer, a protector for me.

Even so, even with that guilt weighing on me, my anger beat out reason, and I hit him. I pounded on his chest with the sides of my fists. Tears rolled down my cheeks.

“You could have at least called. Never do that to me again!” I shouted.

He grabbed my wrists and pulled me against him, making me reconnect with his eyes. Then he covered my mouth with his, pushing his way into my mouth. His kiss was a huge storm of emotions…so passionate, fierce, tender, apologetic. Perfect.

But I fought him anyway. I twisted and pulled back.

His beautiful eyes burned with determination.

“Tell me what you want me to do. Tell me what you need,” he said.

I wanted him to kiss me again. I needed him to hold me.

I slapped his face.

Will took my slap without a word, even nodding to show me that he had.