Page 1 of Text Me, Take Me

PROLOGUE

EVIE

Ithrow myself at him, aiming a punch at his face. He ducks to the side, slips under the strike, then wraps his arms around me and pushes me against this wall.

“Do you think I want to hurt you?” he growls.

I don’t know if he’s talking about physically, spiritually, sexually, or emotionally.

He’s my kidnapper, and I have to keep fighting. But when he pushes against me and I feel his firm muscles and the heat of his body – plus the little voice whispering in the back of my head that we’re compatible – sometimes, hate is a tricky word to remember.

“I think you take what you want, and you don’t care about the consequences.”

Diving low, I rush him. He’s so muscular, I end up bouncing back instead of pushing him away. I raise my hands, ready to fight.

He smirks, infuriatingly handsome, threads of silver glinting in the jet black of his hair. Sweat makes his clothes cling to him.

“Are you going to run?” he says.

“Are you making fun of me?”

Another smirk – another challenge. “It’s a simple question.”

“Do you always tease the girls you kidnap?”

His smile falters. “I’ve never kidnapped anyone.”

“Before me.”

“That was for your safety.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

He rushes at me, feints one way, springs up the other. With a gentle sweep of his leg, he knocks me off my feet. I shriek and fall backward, but he catches me, holding me safely in his arms.

My head spins as he leans down for a kiss.

I don’t want this. Ican’twant this.

But when our lips meet, I forget there’s a difference between wrong and right.

CHAPTER 1

DOM

Before

I’m outside Evie’s apartment in Echo Parks. I’ve followed her from the offices of Russo Multimedia Group, my company, in Century City. I’m doing this for her own good. I’m just keeping a watchful eye on her. That’s what I tell myself.

Evie Davis, twenty-one years old, turning up to an interview at my multinational, multibillion-dollar company in a dark floaty dress that had my pole growing stiff under my desk.

I’d be lying if I said she did not enthrall me. She sits at the front window of her apartment at a workbench, a pair of goggles propped on her forehead, working on something I can’t see. From here, I can’t see her expression, but I remember her concentrated look from the interview earlier today.

Lies riddled her resume.. The worst was she claimed to have several years’ experience at a company owned by a friend of mine. One phone call shattered that deceit. Out of curiosity, I looked her up online.

When I saw her pretty, enthusiastic profile picture, I told myself her beauty had nothing to do with my decision to interview her personally. I was, my story went, making an example of her. Nobody gets to sneak their way into my company.

In the front window, she stretches her arms over her head, making my heart pound a little quicker.

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