Seeing her face was completely drained of color, he sensed something was wrong.
He glanced down and saw a sliver of her wrist peeking out from her loose sleeve.
Her skin, which should have been as white as snow, was covered in bruises.
Tristan Sterling's pupils contracted.
No wonder she had cried out in pain when he'd merely gripped her wrist.
Realizing what this might mean, he reached for the collar of her clothes.
"Don't touch me!"
Holly Sinclair swatted his hand away, her tear-filled eyes blazing with intense hatred.
"Let me see." His brow furrowed, insistent on seeing the rest of her.
"Get lost!"
Furious, she tried to strike him, but he caught her hand mid-swing.
His hands were large; with a single hand, he seized both of hers and pinned them above her head.
She was restrained, unable to move.
He ripped open her collar.
A large expanse of skin was revealed to him.
But Tristan Sterling felt not a trace of lust.
