Derek’s heavy boots pounded along the tile floor of the lower hall, the steady cadence never changing as he spoke, “You’re well trained, Sara and you know better than to talk or look at me that way.”
He stopped abruptly, and Sara forced herself to take three more steps before casually turning and offering him a lackadaisical arch of her brow. Despite how hard she pushed, the man held tight to his control, waiting for her to acquiesce. They were in a pissing match, still she felt compelled to push him and prove his worth. Squaring her shoulders, Sara’s eyes met the annoyance sparking in his, mutely challenging the obedience he demanded.
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