Manipulative Attraction

17. ⚛️ Protracted Cognizance

The glow of her night-light made Thorne look like a deranged madman—his one open eye (the other bruised shut) glared down at her. His split and swollen lips pulled back in a snarl.

Jeannie, pinned underneath a man she no longer recognized, grew terrified by the abruptness of his actions.

But ...

She felt something ... delicious forming inside her. A foreign feeling—hot and heavy. It weighed her down with a particular need. Her unadulterated desire for Thorne.

When Thorne's face softened as he registered her, Jeannie's foreign feeling spread like wildfire. No man before him had ever caused such a reaction in her, and the force of it rose exponentially in the silence that shrouded them.

She wiggled her hips, wanting to feel the heart of him.

Jeannie lowered her eyes demurely, but not before, he'd caught the lust in them. Thorne had seen women gaze at him like that since he was thirteen and stood above most men twice his age.

If Jeannie were anything other than a platonic mark, Thorne, despite his injuries would kiss her. However, Jeannie was strictly hands-off. And as tough as he liked to think he was, practicality ruled his mind. The punishment for going against a directive would be a lot worse than what he went through—days in The Hole ... Or worse.

Nope. Jeannie Jones is not worth it, Thorne thought

Thorne raised up and sat back on his knees, all skin contact between them severed.

"What am I doing here?" he asked, staring down at Jeannie as she squirmed in shame at her wanton behavior. Thorne recognized her movements for what they were and laughed silently at her discomfort.

Women are so easy to rattle, he thought smugly.

Jeannie scrambled up until she reached the headboard. Thorne's lopsided smirk on his tumid lips embarrassed her further. What was she thinking? She chastised herself for letting her desire for him shine through. Thorne wasn't a romanticized Viking from one of her romance books. He was her neighbor, and he wasn't interested in her.

Her embarrassment at playing her hand so openly welled up inside her. She forced her body to behave, working hard to compose her breathing enough to answer her neighbor's question.

"I saw Quentin and Dalton bringing you in." She pulled her legs up to her chin. Under Thorne's stare, Jeannie bent her head, resting her flaming cheek on her kneecaps. "I have medical training, you know, and I wanted to help."

"You wanted to help?" Thorne asked. The arrogance in his voice quelled her embarrassment and sparked her anger. Jeannie turned to look at him with narrowed eyes.

"Hmm," he said, his eye glinting in amusement, "I'm not sure help is what you had in mind."

Jeannie clenched her teeth. She had an idea what he meant, but she wanted to know for sure. "What do you mean, Hawthorne?" she asked, ire sparking in her eyes.

Thorne smiled, his lips grinding against each other. "You didn't just want to help. You wanted me in your bed." His subsequent booming laugh made Jeannie's humiliation complete.

The object of her desire, without thought or feeling, had boorishly rejected her. Her fury against Thorne was so great, Jeannie didn't even register that her nails had dug hard enough in her palms to leave bloody crescents.

"What the hell did you say?"

Jeannie clambered out of bed, switching on her bedside lamp. Her stomach rolled with acid at Thorne's callousness. No matter if she wanted him, no matter if he was the man of her dreams, she wouldn't let any man walk over her.

Not even Hawthorne Gable.

Too late, Thorne realized his mistake.

Jeannie the warrior stood before him as the epitome of righteous fire and grace and Thorne grew helpless against the view of her ample chest heaving in a fit of pique.

No woman had ever ordered him out her apartment let alone her bed. Thorne was at a loss on how to deal with the unexpected change of events.

Perhaps comforting words are in order, he thought.

"Hey, Jeannie. I was just—"

"Go. Now."

Jeannie pointed a trembling finger at her bedroom door. "Your keys, medication, and a set of clothes are on a chair in the living room. I want you gone within the next five minutes."

"Fine," Thorne snarled, pissed that a mark had dismissed him and not the other way around. "I'm out."

"For all time," Jeannie said, turning her back.

Thorne's anger dissipated as soon as Jeannie had turned, shutting him out ...

For all time.

Thorne took his time getting dressed because of his injuries. He slowly pulled his T-shirt over his head then slipped into his sweatpants. The pervasive sadness, which ran through him like a river, also made his reactions slow.

Jeannie is an assignment, nothing more, one side of his mind raged. The other half parried back, True, but she makes you happy.

The hell she did!

No woman had ever accomplished that feat. The women he bedded were just a solution for a physical need. Jeannie was no different.

So what if the best part of the week for him was carrying her bike down the stairs? Moreover, during the weekends he'd spent training at The Source he hadn't even thought about her ... much. Just once or twice an hour.

And who cares if she kissed Shon?

You do. You know you do.

Thorne could no longer lie to himself. As soon as Jeannie took up with Shon, life had been hell on earth. Thorne had tortured himself nightly watching the couple study, eat, kiss, and cuddle. He throbbed with impotent rage as he watched Shon press up against Jeannie in an intimate manner. Countless times he had wanted to march next door and beat the man senseless. The only thing stopping him was the mandate from The Source—no physical contact with the mark.

Thorne was past that now. He needed to tell Jeannie "sorry" so they could start over. He was even willing—

"Why are you still here?" Jeannie asked, emerging from her room. "What are you waiting for?" She moved into his space, burning his smugness up with the fire in her eyes. She also scorched his arrogance with the brimstone coming from her mouth. "You should have gone already!"

Thorne stood immobile while Jeannie glowered at him. Maybe the dream about his mother had reminded him what it felt like to be happy or was it Jeannie herself, so sweet and giving, who opened a piece of him he thought he'd closed long ago? Or perhaps it was down to the fact that underneath his tough exterior, he was a troubled man and the happiness Jeannie provided was just too much to throw away.

Thorne's maelstrom of feelings moiled his insides. He was no longer certain of his destiny since the day he'd emerged from his hiding place to learn he was on his own.