Keenan closed his palms tightly by his sides. It was all he could do to keep his anger in check. He could feel it boiling out of him, and it got worse the longer he stayed in her presence.
It irked him the way she looked when she was in pain. She had made him suffer more than this, and she dared look as though she didn't deserve it—as though it was too much to bear. His jaw tightened.
He could feel the palm he had wrapped around her neck pulse in the same rhythm as hers. The loud beating of her heart echoed in his ears. Keenan didn't want to think of her evasive scent that wafted to his nostrils.
She was frightened of him. He didn't have to sense her fear to know that. Every time he reached for her, she flinched and froze. He preferred that; her pain brought him satisfaction.
Regardless of her evident fears, she seemed to enjoy getting on his nerves—waiting for his call even though he had given explicit orders. She was mocking him, just as she had done by offering herself.
