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If my thoughts were chaos, she was my anchor. They always went back to her.
Twin flames of resentment and frustration burned in my chest. I was weak for Stella Alonso, and I hated it.
“Touch Stella again, and you’ll no longer have a fiancée.” I slammed the door in his face. Dante was my first client and an old friend. I didn’t provoke him often. But like I said, I didn’t like people touching what was mine.
Stella’s eyes narrowed. “Butterfly?” Beautiful. Elusive. Hard to catch.
“Because I don’t want to be jailed for murder if anyone touches a hair on your head.”
“I’m jealous of every person you smile at.” A brush over her fingers. “Every laugh I don’t hear.” My touch dipped to her knee and made a slow, languorous journey up her thigh. “Every breeze that touches your skin and every sound that pours through your lips. It. Is. Maddening.”
“I want to make a few things clear.” Christian’s lips brushed mine with each word. “Touch another man, he dies. Let another man touch you, he dies. Tell me I can’t touch you…” His grip tightened on the back of my neck as his voice dropped. “And I will fucking die.”
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