Page 8 of Wretched Choices

Before I can argue, he pushes my legs apart, causing my stomach to dip. My mouth falls open and I gasp.

He uses his left hand to inspect my left side from my hip down my leg, his hand touching my skin. Then he switches hands and inspects my right side, stopping at my pocket. Feeling something inside, he reaches in and takes my self-defense portable stick.

“What do we have here?” he says, and after a few seconds, I can hear the flick of the stick. “What the…” He doesn’t finish. “I don’t believe a word you’ve said. I’m sure you won’t mind, but I need to do a thorough check.”

I don’t get a say as the skirt of my dress is abruptly pulled up to my waist, exposing my black thong. His hand finds its way between my thighs and up to my sex, where his fingers trace over. I bite my lip to stop myself from reacting to his touch. Theheat on my neck rises up to my face. I can feel the fire in my cheeks.

“What are you doing?” I ask, but my voice is so low I don’t think he heard me.

He leans in, pressing his body to mine, his breath on my ear. “I need to check what else you’re hiding.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

He cups my pussy. “Is that so? You’d better start talking, then, because if I make you talk, it will be my way. But from what I can see here, I can assure you you’ll enjoy it.” He squeezes my pussy, making me inhale sharply.

He pulls my skirt back down and once again manhandles me, spinning me around and backing me against the table. He shoves my hands behind me and holds them in a firm grip.

“Start talking. You can start with your name and why you’re here.”

His blue eyes bore into mine, commanding me to talk. I say nothing as his hand slides down the straps of my dress, my upper body on display for him, but he doesn’t look, keeping his eyes firmly on mine. His hand explores the skin of my breast, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind as his hand passes down to my stomach.

Like I have something under my skin.

“What are you doing? You can’t touch me like that,” I breathe, almost a moan.

“And you shouldn’t be here. I guess we’re both doing things we shouldn’t.” The heat of his predatory look as he says the words does something inside me.

Swallowing my pride, I try to stay calm despite the violation he is putting me through, and at the same time fighting the desire to lean into his touch and allow him to do whatever he wants with me.

“Your name,” he commands. His voice is strong, sending tremors down to my core.

“Isabel Roberts, and I told you the truth. I’m a journalist.” I lick my lips and exhale. “I got a tip that Senator Wilson’s wife is having an affair, and I could catch her in the act here.” The lie slips out just fine. He hums, putting the straps of my dress back on my shoulders.

“Is she now? And with whom may that be?” He raises his eyebrow, his eyes exploring my face.

“That is what I want to find out.”

“But as you see, she is not here, yet you were snooping around. Why?”

“I thought looking around might tell me who this office belongs to and I’d get the name of the mystery man.”

“You shouldn’t have come here in the first place. How did you enter this event, anyway? This is a closed event. No press is allowed in here. You could get in trouble just for that,” he says in a low, husky voice.

His threat is doing things to me that make me question myself. The adrenaline running through me makes me want to test his threat.

I raise my eyebrows, giving him a small, seductive smile. His grip on my hands tightens. He takes a step forward, one of his legs between mine, his thigh dangerously close to my sex. His face moves forward, and I can feel his breath on my cheek when he speaks next.

“You don’t know what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into. Do you even know who I am?” He smirks.

I swallow the lump in my throat. I don’t know who he is, and that’s the problem. He just showed up out of nowhere. All I know is that I want to keep playing this game with him.

“No, I don’t, but if I had to guess, I’d say you must be doing someone’s dirty work.” I try to hide my fear and lust with the insult that has no effect on him other than to make him laugh.

“Oh, sweetheart, I do my own dirty work. I don’t need anyone for that. And, just so you know, you’re in my office, in my hotel.”

His hotel. My eyes widen as I realize he is the man I’m after. Salvatore Catalano.

“Is that so? Are you the one sleeping with the senator’s wife?” I try to cover my surprise, but I still want to know the answer. I don’t know why, I just do. It has nothing to do with my purpose here. Something in me switched; my need to bait him.

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