"Oops!" I blurted out, my hands flying up to shield my chest from his penetrating gaze.
As I moved to cover myself, Finnian caught my wrist and pulled me close. His grip was firm, unyielding. "What are you doing?" My eyes widened in horror as I found myself pressed against his solid frame.
Finnian didn't respond. Instead, his fingers gently traced the marks and bruises on my chest, following the path of each purple bloom. The rough touch of his fingers against my tender skin was warm and ticklish, sending unwanted shivers down my spine. His gaze was intense, as if he were focused on an object of fascination rather than a person. It made me shiver. It was weird to feel a man's touch on the traces another man left on me. Very weird. The contrast was jarring—Jayce's passionate fervor now being examined by Finnian's clinical curiosity.
"Darlington wasn't the one who slept with you last night. It was Jayce, right?" Finnian suddenly questioned, his voice flat and knowing.
