Page 66 of Devil's Claim

Or break out in my case.

It took me a few seconds to figure out how to unlock the door. When I did, I threw it open a little too dramatically, immediately taking a step outside.

Straight into a hard body that didn’t move an inch from the sudden blow. Mine did, bouncing backward by several inches, coming close to stumbling and falling on my butt.

I would have had the sexy man standing in front of me hadn’t grabbed my arm.

Kruz’s eyes flashed and I couldn’t tell if from amusement or annoyance. “Were you going somewhere,mi pequeño pastel, when I specifically told you to stay inside?”

“I doubt you left keys in one of your luxurious vehicles and since I know about fifty words in Spanish, I doubt I’d get very far.”

He backed me inside and against a wall while kicking the door shut with his foot. When he planted one hand on the right side ofmy head, I tried to scoot away from the left. He blocked me with his other hand, even crowding my space.

Today’s aftershave was dangerously provocative, a mixture of musk and spices that should be illegal. Rolling images of pure filth clouded my vision.

“There’s something you need to understand, my sweet treat. You will obey me. My rules. My commands. Everything.”

“I didn’t realize they were different.”

A single eyebrow lifted at my attempt at humor. Although it was dark humor. “I’m serious.”

“Well, you left and I had no idea if you were coming back. Besides, my son is hungry.”

So was I for that point. As brats would do, I’d stared at the incredible food on the plane, refusing a single bite. If I’d been hoping Kruz would notice, I’d failed.

“Good point. As I said, I had business.”

“Business that couldn’t wait for a single day so you could tell me how my prison term will go?”

“Somehow, I don’t think of my house as a prison.”

“You wouldn’t. I don’t even know how to turn on the television. What about music? What about food for that matter? My little boy is hungry. Come to think of it, so am I. You didn’t seem worried we might starve to death if you walked out that door. That tells me a lot about a man.” With every word I spit out in nervousness, he seemed more and more amused. I wasn’t necessarily trying to make him laugh. And I wasn’t certain why everything felt so entirely with him being inside his home.

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” He tilted his head to the side, his eyelids way too heavy for this time in the afternoon.

“Uh-huh. Only when I’m nervous.” Why was he lowering his head even more? Why was it my back was arching toward him?

“Not only when you’re nervous,” he muttered, which sounded more like a growl. “Why are you so anxious? You know I won’t hurt you.”

“No, I really don’t know that for certain and I can think of about a million reasons why.”

He brushed his lips across mine with such subtlety I almost gripped his shirt with both hands, jerking him down for a real kiss.

But I didn’t.

This was an entirely different side to him. Although I couldn’t put a name on it.

All controlling. That was a phrase meant for him if I ever knew one.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Christine. If I’d had any intention of doing so, I would have taken the time in Miami. Not in my own home.”

“That’s right. Blood won’t be easy to remove from sheepskin rugs.” Which he had at least three of.

He chuckled and captured my mouth, but only briefly.

“Mommy. Really. Really hungry.”

The voice was much more insistent. I licked my lips, finally pressing my hands against Kruz’s chest.

---