Page 141 of The Contract

I stand there for a beat too long.

Da’s voice slices through my thoughts, thick with that familiar Scottish brogue. Knives only work if yer up close and personal, darlin’.

Yeah? Well, you failed to mention getting this close would turn my legs into fucking cement.

Another half-step.

Suddenly, I understand exactly how a lamb feels, staring down a lion in his own den.

“I won’t hold it against you if you run, Pom.”

My pulse slams violently against my ribs, palms slick with sweat. I force a smile, all false bravado and zero backup. “Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

“I doubt that.” His voice is low, rough silk scraping dangerously across bare skin. “Very little does.”

His gaze drags downward—my lips, my throat—lingering there long enough to brand me. Then his attention snags sharply on the necklace.

“Except for that.”

“What about it?” I whisper, pulse pounding harder.

His eyes flare, dark amusement flickering at the edges. “It means you’re either dangerously naïve, or one hell of a tease.”

Without warning, his hand snaps out, fingers shackling my wrist like steel cuffs. One savage yank and I’m straddling his thighs, knees digging brutally into leather, his colossal dick grinding exactly where I need it most.

A moan slips out before I can chain it back.

His breath grazes mine, barbed wire brushing silk. “And you’re not leaving until I know exactly which it is.”

CHAPTER 48

Riley

A sharp smack lands hard on my left butt cheek. “Answer me.”

My mouth falls open, brain short-circuiting into a dizzy cocktail of stunned and shamefully aroused.

I scramble to play it off as deeply offended. Nothing but a weak puff of air escapes, because his hand remains firmly and possessively planted on my ass, obliterating every coherent thought.

“Well?” he growls, voice scraping rough against my neck.

What was the question?

Breaths shallow as my pulse hammers wildly between my thighs. All I manage is a weak, pathetic, “Huh?”

“Are you a tease?”

“No,” I bite out, sharpening the word against my ragged, heavy breaths.

His lips twist, dark and predatory. “Is that so, Pom?”

He says my name, and it’s liquid heat down my spine.

I bite my lip, attempting, and failing, to casually tug my wrist free from his steel-cuffed grip.

Of course he’d grab my left hand.

The same side where the knife is strapped.

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