Page 54 of Coerced Kiss
Finally scavenging the courage to look away from the hypnotic power of his glare, I glance at the window. Somehow, I manage to keep my voice even. “Where are you taking me?”
“Anya.”
The way in which he says my name like the tenderest but most powerful warning makes me whip my head around to face him again.
He bites out every word. “Who did you see?”
I’m not reluctant to tell him because I’m protecting Evan. I just don’t want him to be privy to my humiliation.
“If that’s how you want to play it,” he says.
It’s not the finality with which he utters those words that scares me as much as the regret that slips into his tone.
I swallow away the tightness in my throat before saying, “Evan Kearney.”
“Justice Kearney?”
“Yes,” I say a bit more harshly, hating that he’s forcing me to confess this.
“Why?” he asks, dragging out the word with something like sardonic humor.
Lowering my lashes, I fiddle with the strap of the bag in my lap.
He stills my fingers by cupping my hand, pulling my gaze back to him as he draws circles over my skin with his thumb.
“Do you honestly think he can save you,tesoro?”
I frown. Then his meaning hits me. “No! You’re mistaken.”
“Am I?”
I stumble over the words in my haste to utter them. “I didn’t go there to do what you think.”
“And what is it that I think?”
“It’s not that. I promise you. I didn’t tell him what I saw,” I say, breathless with fear. “You’ve got it wrong. I swear it.”
He studies me like a powerful god about to decide my fate, and it’s not far off the mark. “Do you expect me to believe that?”
It’s imperative that he believes me, because if he doesn’t, I know where he’s taking me. In that case, we’re definitely heading to my grave.
I don’t have a choice but to tell him, “I went there to…” I inhale deeply, my cheeks burning as I admit, “…to ask him for money.”
His eyes tighten with suspicion. “Money for what?”
“Vitamins.”
“Vitamins?” Disapproval darkens his face. “Is that your code for drugs?”
It hurts that he thinks that about me. I don’t even know why his opinion matters. All I know is that his unfair judgment of my character infuriates me.
I jerk my hand from where he’s still touching it with his disturbing caress. “Are you crazy? I’m pregnant, for God’s sake. Do you think I’d do that to my baby? Do I look like an addict?”
“Money for what, Anya?” he asks again, undeterred by my outburst.
I heave a frustrated sigh. “I’m anemic, okay? I need iron and folic acid supplements.” Admitting the next part is the worst. “I couldn’t afford to buy the supplements, so I asked him for the money. There. Are you happy?”
Too ashamed to hold his gaze, I look away.