“I’m going to rip you to pieces,” he growled, his fists clamped tight, hard enough that his knuckles had gone white, “and use your heart as kindling for the fire I’m going to dance around to celebrate your death.”
“Graeme, isn’t that a little extreme?” Her long fingers were busy pulling the grey lace up around her slender hips. His eyes traveled over her figure, fresh rage welling up anew. The questions were back, like battering rams against the inside of his skull. A thousand blinding headaches descending upon him at once.
“Don’t even speak to me until your clothes are on, Daisy. You’re both lucky I haven’t slit his fu*king throat already.” It took effort, but he tore his gaze away from Daisy’s svelte little frame and turned it on the slouch staring wide-eyed at him from the ill-perceived safety of the bedsheets. “Do you have a...