Page 27 of To Curse A Knight

“No house elves to be found, so I’ll have to try again tomorrow,” I quipped, flashing him a lazy smile, not bothering to get up from my perch. “Wait—are yeh spying on Blondie, now? Do you have access to her cameras?”

He grunted, the masculine caveman growl like sweet, cock-stiffening music to my ears. “Always have. Haven’t needed to use them in a while.”

Not until me. What a cute giant stalker he was.

He crossed beefy arms across his barrelled chest, and the black pea-coat bunched around his biceps. EvenBig & Talldidn’t have clothes that could properly fit this man.

“That’s too bad.” I leaned back into the seat cushion, spreading my arms across the back of the couch as I challenged his grumpy stare. “Would’ve gotten quite a show when Blondie shoved a toy up my arse, but that’s old hat to you, in’t it? When you’ve seen it once…”

His bushy blond brows didn’t move an inch at my teasing, and I’ll admit I was a little disappointed. Ribbing Kellan was quickly becoming my favorite pastime—besides fucking him, of course.

Snatching up my jacket from the back of the kitchen stool, he tossed it at me. Then my angry captor retreated toward the elevator.

“Come on,” he barked in that same boxer-bunching growly voice. “I’m your keeper for this afternoon. Hillary sent me your schedule. Get a fucking move on.”

Jumping up from the couch, I hastily threw on my coat and followed him to the waiting elevator. “I wasn’t under the impression I needed an escort—I’m already branded, remember?” I held up my arm, pointing to the fleshy part of my forearm that held my tracking chip.

He ignored me, marched into the metal box, and resumed his murder-y stance; I stepped in after him.

I mimed speaking into my hand like it was a Dictaphone. “Low IQ and memory issues—subject shows shocking similarities to Moose Mason.”

An eye twitch and a flex of the hand and… was that a lip twitch? Did this manactuallyhave a sense of humor beneath all those muscles?

Still no response, though—so he was probably warding off a minor stroke instead. The man was a feckin’ stone.

He “escorted” me—a snug grasp of my upper arm—out to his blue Jeep, the same one where he’d taken my microchip-virginity. He nodded to me to sit up front, but kept up the silent treatment for another few minutes down the road before finally breaking.

“I trust you as much as I trust Marco Alvarez.”

Well, duh. Mafia machines like Kellan trusted no one. I wasn’t after the man’s trust; that was a fool’s errand. I needed him to like me.

Blackmail was only one way to get someone to do what you wanted. Get them to like you, and the world became a giant oyster farm.

Kellan didn’t like cocky assholes—well, he didn’t likedominantcocky assholes. But bratty subbies who could dish it as well as take it? I could win an Oscar for that act—mostly because it wasn’t an act at all.

“For a second, I thought you forgot how to talk there.” I flashed my cheekiest smile and turned to face him, leaning my back against the passenger window glass. “So, you don’t trust my motives, but you trust me not to have syphilis? That’s twice now you’ve taken my virgin hole, Conan.”

Shaking my head, I tutted my fake disapproval. “Taking lots of risks for a big, scary brute, aren’t yeh? Let me guess”—I mimed air quotes and bobbled my head—“You don’t ‘condom’.”

Eyes narrowing into a glare, he rubbed a heavy palm over his face. The word “hope” stared back at me. It was an odd tattoo for a scary cartel baddie, but the “hell” on his other hand balanced the scales a bit.

“I’ve been tested both times,” he muttered, tonealmostapologetic. “No syphilis.”

“Me, too!” I singsonged cheerfully. “See, big guy?Trust.”

I turned back in my seat to face forward, waiting out his next bout of stoic silence. Good thing con men were patient fucks, or this one-sided conversation would be one hell of a party.

Two minutes… three minutes… four—

“I find you fuckable. End of story.”

Bingo.

“Obvious one there, mate. Does that mean you’re going to dig for another pot of gold at the end of my rainbow, or have you given up on the luck of the Irish now that Blondie might give you a taste?”

Pulling into the parking lot of Alvarez’s building, my special friend’s gargantuan body shifted and he faced me, eyes darkened to dangerous, murderous slits. Fucking beautiful.

“You willnottalk about her that way. Keep saying shit like that, and I’ll remove your fingers the next time we have a chat.”

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