Why do I feel like I’ve been gut-punched? It’s got to be a control thing. In my subconscious, I wasn’t done with her, so I still want to control her.

“Am I under arrest?” Her voice makes me turn and look at her. “Because you do realize you have no right to interfere with anything I’m doing, right?” she snaps. “You’re not my real daddy, Jett,” she sneers, then turns to look out the window.

“You want to be a whore?” The words echo around us, ugly and dirty.

She gasps, her eyes snapping to mine. “How dare you?” Her voice cracks.

“Dare? I dare anything. That’s not the question. You’re underage, in a place you shouldn’t be, dressed like a whore.” She looks like I’ve slapped her. I loosen my tie.

“I just wanted to get out of the house,” she screams. It ricochets around the car. We stare at each other.

God, I hope Rachel isn’t home. Because she needs her ass spanked.

“You needed to get out of the house?” I cock my head.

“Yes. I have basically been holed up in that room, not that you would know or care.” She bites her bottom lip as I glance over at Iain who’s pulling into my driveway.

“God, whatever, you caught me.” She puts her head back on the leather seat. “I just wanted to get out, have some fun, and maybe not think about you.” She puts her hands over her face.

And for a second, I just sit, letting her words swirl around me. She’s fearless, breathtaking, and manipulative.

Which makes her dangerous.

This might have started out as a game, a moment of weakness on my part, wanting the forbidden fruit, but now… I’m not thinking rationally.

“Goddammit,” I mutter, throwing the door open. This shit is the very reason I don’t have relationships. It’s why Rachel is my fiancée.

No feelings.

No drama.

Nothing but respect for each other’s accomplishments.

Not this.

Not feeling like I may do bodily harm to anyone who dares to look, touch, or breathe near her. Christ, you need to get your ass upstairs and fuck Rachel. Leave Raven. She can find her way back to her room.

Seconds tick by as I fight a battle that’s pointless. But I know who and what I am, and as long as I’m able to sleep at night, that’s all that matters.

One delicate leg steps out, followed by another when I reach my hand out to her. She looks at it, and just like the day we first met in the kitchen, she makes me wait, as if she, too, is trying to stop this madness.

But this is beyond madness. It’s fucking mayhem.