“Give me the drawing.”
Her chin went up. “No.”
“Fine,” he bit out. Tension feathered along his square jaw and something knotted low in her belly. “Then I’ll take it from you.”
Max felt as feral as a predator as he watched her shake her head and send the dark coil of hair bouncing over her shoulder. Angling his head, he followed the trail of it. The tip curled enticingly between her breasts. He inhaled at the view. He wanted to wrap his fist around that hair and haul her closer. Lick and kiss that saucy mouth of hers into submission.
She arched away and forced her arm deeper behind her back. The action only caused her breasts to rise even higher within her bodice.
“Stay away from me.” Her voice shook a little, and he smiled down at her, enjoying that he was so obviously affecting her.
He closed in, wrapping his arms around her, bringing her flush against his chest. He fought to ignore the sensation of her pressed against his body as his hands slid down the length of her arms. Her eyes gleamed amber fire in her face, widening as his fingers reached her wrists.
She scanned his features as though she had never seen him before. Indeed, he, too, felt as though he was seeing her anew. He could actually count the tiny flecks of gold in her eyes. He noted the freckle beside her right eyebrow that was darker and larger than the rest of her freckles.
The two of them weren’t standing in a ballroom or the drawing room of her brother’s house. No one stood nearby ready to step in and put a stop to their quarreling should it become too much. This wasn’t Sodom with countless eyes on them, watching their every move, staying his hand from doing anything he should not.
They were alone. Anything could happen. Especially things that shouldn’t happen.
Her stare dropped to his mouth before snapping back up to his eyes. A telltale flush stained her cheeks.
His hands folded over hers, clenched so tightly together. Her fingers were long and slim. He tested their shape and length. An artist’s hands. He felt the parchment through the cracks in her fingers.
“You don’t understand,” she whispered.
“No, you don’t,” he growled. “You can ruin people’s lives.”
Her gaze bored into him. “It’s all I have. There’s nothing else. I need this.”
“Find another hobby,” he said, refusing to let her thaw his ire. She risked too much. On this, he wasn’t wrong. Her drawings could wreak havoc. He knew that firsthand. He pried her fingers apart and snatched hold of the drawing, holding it away from her with no care for crinkling the parchment.
But she cared. She cried out and tried to grab it back. He backed away, moving out of range. He glanced to the hearth. She followed his gaze and her eyes widened in horror.
“No! Don’t!” She lunged at him. He placed a hand on her shoulder, holding her at bay. She pushed against him, trying to reclaim the scroll.
He turned and faced the fire, ignoring her hopping and surging against his back, beating him with balled-up fists.
He had a moment’s hesitation as she choked out behind him, “Camden, please! Don’t!”
Pushing aside the stab of doubt, he tossed the scroll into the fire, watching grimly as it went up in an angry nest of red and orange flame.
With a strangled cry, she surged around him as though she would dive for it, heedless of burning herself. He hauled her back by the waist, and she turned in his arms, raining her fists on his chest in a violent fury.
“Enough! Have you lost your mind?” He wrapped her in his arms, but she still struggled and writhed as though he had just tossed a living thing into the fire and not a simple drawing.