Free What He Shields (What He Wants Book Seventeen) by Hannah Ford Page A

Um…” My sleeve had slid up, and I yanked it down.   Shit.   I’d worked so hard to make sure they’d
been covered.   But that was the
problem with scars – they never really went away, never really stayed
hiding.   They forced you to live
your life constantly on the edge, constantly scared of being exposed.
    “We don’t allow drugs here,” Colt said.   There was no judgment in his tone.   In fact, he sounded completely
matter-of-fact.
    “I don’t do drugs.”
    “Then what are the scars from?”   He reached out and took my wrist,
turning it over so he could get a better look.   His touch sent fire roaring through my
body and I snatched my wrist back.
    Colt’s mouth snaked up into a cocky grin,
almost like he was enjoying the fact that he had me squirming.   I pushed my chin into the air and met
his gaze, refusing to back down.   “I
don’t do drugs.”
    He raised his eyebrows but didn’t say
anything.   The air crackled with
tension and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. His eyes flashed so dark it seemed
like I was falling into them.   He
was looking at me from under lowered lids, his gaze so penetrating I shivered.
    Only one other man had ever had that effect on
me.   Declan.   The thought of him flooded my body with
guilt.   Declan.   I’d made him a promise.   And even though I was nowhere near close
to breaking it, I made myself look away from Colt.
    Colt leaned back in his chair.
    “Dance,” he commanded.
    “What?”  
    “This is an audition.   I have to see if you can dance.”
    Of course it was an audition.   Of course I knew that at some point I
was going to have to take off my clothes.   But when I’d imagined this moment, it had been much different.   I’d thought I’d be standing here in
front of a middle-aged man, not a guy only a few years older than me who was so
sexy I could hardly look at him.
    I’d imagined it would be easy, taking my
clothes off.   All I’d have to do was
disassociate, let my mind wander while I took my clothes off for whatever
disgusting old pervert was sitting in front of me.   I was no stranger to pretending   I was somewhere else.   I’d been doing it my whole life.   It was called survival.   Anytime I’d had to do something
unpleasant, or been hurt by someone, I’d disassociated.   Later, when the feelings would
inevitably resurface, I’d cut my wrists to let the pain out.
    I rolled my shoulders and tried to relax.
    “You don’t have to be nervous,” Colt said.    He reached over and picked up his
phone.   He pushed a few buttons, and
after a second, a slow beat began to pulse through the room.   It got louder and
louder until I could feel the rhythm in my chest.
    I closed my eyes and let the music fill my
body, letting it take over.   I moved
my hips and imagined myself floating up toward the ceiling, looking down at
myself while I danced.
    After a few moments, I felt my hips start to
loosen just a tiny bit, felt myself start to get into the dance.  
    “Look at me,” Colt demanded.
    I opened my eyes and my gaze locked onto
his.   His stare was mesmerizing, and
even though I was doing everything I could not to connect with him, I couldn’t
look away.  
    “Come here,” he whispered huskily.
    I took a step toward him, and his eyes blazed
as he reached out and put his hands on my hips, guiding me.   “That’s it.”
    The bottom of my shirt rose up just a tiny bit
and his thumb grazed against my bare skin.  
    A searing heat pulsed through my body, almost
in time to the music.   I went to
pull away, but Colt’s hands held me firmly in place.
    “Take off your shirt,” he commanded, his voice
still low and sexy.
    I reached up, mesmerized, and did as I was
told.   I would have expected my
hands to be shaking, that I would be nervous about taking my clothes of in
front of this gorgeous stranger.   But it was the opposite.   His
gaze was like an anchor, keeping me grounded, holding me in place, right there
in