A rush of fury shot through me. My gaze darted to the towel. The shadows in the valleys at his h*ps caught my attention. They shifted as he took another step, forcing me back. His abs rippled with the movement. He kept advancing until I could go no farther. Backed against a wall, I put one hand on his chest. He braced his hands on the wall behind me.

“I thought we were over your petty threats,” I said.

His gaze dropped to my mouth. “My threats are never petty.” He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, then pulled it into his mouth as he pondered our situation.

“And neither are mine. Don’t threaten me again and we can be lifelong friends.”

His head tilted to the side. “You think to tame me?” he asked. Without taking his eyes off me, he reached for the top of a chest of drawers, retrieved the Polaroid, and handed it to me. “You think to tame that?”

I didn’t look at it. The image had been branded into my mind from the moment I first saw it. Reyes bound and blindfolded, tied to a chair, rope biting into his flesh, reopening wounds that appeared to have been healing. I’d recognized him instantly, his mussed dark hair; the fluid, mechanical tattoos along his shoulders and arms; his full mouth. He looked about sixteen in the picture, his face turned away, his lips pressed together in humiliation. Huge patches of black bruises marred his neck and ribs. Long garish cuts, some fresh, some half healed, streaked along his arms and torso.

I swore I would never look at it again, but I wasn’t an idiot. I would also never let it go. If nothing else, it was evidence of what Reyes went through, of what both he and Kim had endured, and now it would serve to help with his sister’s case.

Without looking at it, I stuffed it into my back pocket.

“Don’t you want to see what I am?” he asked.

“That’s not what you are, Reyes. That’s what was done to you.”

The smile that spread across his face held little humor. “And you think to fix me like a bird with a broken wing.”

My hands slid to the towel. “I think you’re a big boy and you know that I’m here for you no matter what.” I teased him, brushed my fingertips along the top of the towel, down the front until they slid along his erection. Clearly, he wasn’t that mad.

He tensed. “No matter what?”

“No matter what,” I said, nudging him back. “And when you can stop threatening me every time I stand my ground, you can have me. Until then, we can be neighbors.” I started to duck under his arm, but he lowered it, blocked my escape.

“You’re kidding, right?”

I looked up at him. “Not at all. If you don’t mind.” I indicated his arm with a glance.

Instead of moving aside, he closed the distance between us until we were only centimeters apart. “Neighbors?”

The fire that consumed him licked over my skin, soaked into my sweater and jeans. I rested my head against the wall and gazed up at him. Waiting. He would either move and make this easy on both of us or he would make a move, rendering my ability to walk away very, very difficult. He did neither. He stood there, watching me carefully, and at first I didn’t understand why. Then I felt it. I felt him. Reaching inside me with a hot, probing energy.

“If I thought for a moment you took my threats seriously, Dutch, I would hold my tongue.”

I could think of other things he could do with his tongue. “That’s no excuse,” I said instead, my voice a soft whisper.

“At least when I threaten you, you stop feeling sorry for me.”

“Empathy,” I corrected.

“It’s just – I can take the anger much easier than I can the pity.”

“Empathy,” I said again.

“And you can use any euphemism you want, it’s pity.”

“It’s compassion.”

“It’s piteous consolation.”

“It’s appreciation for what you’ve gone through. It’s understanding and it’s heartfelt. If that’s too much for you to bear, then you can bite my ass.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“It’s a fact.”

He lowered his head. “I want you to trust me.”

“Oddly enough, I do. No matter what you say, I do trust you.”

He moved his hands to either side of my head and ran his thumbs along my temples. “How much?”

I instantly began to relax. His touch was amazing. “Right now, a lot. But you still don’t get to have me until you can behave.”

He leaned in, put his forehead on the wall next to my ear, not quite touching me but so close I could feel his breath on my neck, and said softly, “Then make me.”

His words combined with the deep timbre of his voice were my undoing. He knew they would be, damn it. My restraint system failed and I reached out, ran my hands over the hard rungs of his stomach. It clenched with every movement as my fingertips slid down to the top of his towel again. One tug and he was free. His heartbeat quickened. His blood rushed through his veins a little faster. Or maybe that was mine. Either way, the room warmed even more.

“Keep your hands on the wall,” I said, my tone resolute. Then I ducked under his arm and pushed him until he was almost flat against it.

What a beautiful position to be in. Reyes Farrow at my beck and call, forced to behave, to follow my orders explicitly. I could get used to it. And I could really get used to seeing him na**d anytime I wanted. He looked over at me as I took him in. His dark eyes shimmering from behind his damp hair. His long limbs shaped to exquisite perfection. His steely bu**ocks with divots on either side tightening when my gaze landed there.