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of a night with Ella, his blood flowing hotter, faster. He responded to her on an elemental level, one that didn’t seem concerned with the scars that marred her otherwise perfect flesh.
    She leaned in so that he could hear her over the pulse of the music. “Don’t touch me like you have the right to. You bought my business loan, you didn’t buy me,” she said finally, her voice low, trembling.
    “I had not forgotten.”
    “So what was it then, morbid curiosity? It’s called a burn scar, I got in a house fire. I would have thought you’d have read that somewhere by now. The
Courier
did a particularly nice article on the subject, if you’re interested.”
    Ella’s heart thundered heavily, her stomach churning. She hated that. Hated that the simple touch had done that to her. Every insecurity, every shortcoming felt like it had been thrown in her face, had been brought to glaring light.
    She hated that the scars still made her feel that way. No matter how much she pretended to be fine with them, she still hated what she saw when she looked in the mirror. Hated the feel of them beneath her fingertips when she scrubbed herself in the shower.
    No one ever…no one had ever touched them like that. The way he moved his thumb over the marks on her hand, the way he’d stroked her neck.
    Only one man had ever put his hands on her scars, and that had only been with the intent of humiliating her, which he very thoroughly had.
    Her mother and father had stopped touching her altogether after the fire. No loving embraces, no casual brushes of their hands. Nothing but cold distance as they wrapped themselves in their guilt. Even her pain became about them.
    The soft, hot graze of Blaise’s fingers had hit her with the force of an electric shock, shaken her out of her thoughts, tiny sparks of sensation continuing along her veins well after the initial contact. And then she had looked at him. At the smooth, mahogany perfection of his skin. She had been reminded then, of why she shouldn’t let him touch her.
    The stark realization had made her feel like she was drowning in shame and she didn’t want him to see it. She didn’t even want to acknowledge it to herself. Even now she wanted to break free of his arms and run out of the club. But she felt paralyzed, trapped. They were the focus of every guest in attendance and she knew there were reporters. She didn’t want a reputation as the woman who ran out of a party like Cinderella fleeing the ball.
    She was strong. She wasn’t running.
    “I suppose since you’re in the habit of taking what doesn’t belong to you, it didn’t occur to you I might not be willing,” she said, compelled to make him feel as exposed as she was. “Businesses. Women.”
    The change in his face wasn’t drastic, but his eyes turned to golden ice, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I only take what is not well guarded. Your business for example—if you weren’t in so much debt, my power would be minimal.”
    “I see. So you’re blaming me for this. Does that mean your brother is to blame for you stealing his fiancée? It was right before the wedding, right? You slept with her in their bed and then went public with her, touching and kissing her at every hot spot in town.” The ice in his eyes melted, leaving a blazing fire, and every part of her body burned. She tilted her chin up. “You said every story written about you in the tabloids was true. Unarguably, that is what you’re best known for.”
    He didn’t flinch, the barb glancing off his granite defenses.
    “Clearly you’ve done your research, but none of this is new information to me.”
    She had. She’d looked him up on the internet. And she’d allowed all manner of righteous indignation flood over her as she’d read about the betrayal of his brother because it allowed her to be angry at him. And being angry at him was so much safer than feeling anything else.
    “I know my part in that incident very well,” he said, his voice