Page 25 of Ruthless King
“You’re blackmailing now? A bullshit contract isn’t enough so you’re going to force me to stay by lording a shooting in self-defense over me?”
“Self-defense?” I bark. “That’s laughable.”
“Youkidnappedme!”
I raise my hands and a twinge races across my shoulder. Gritting my teeth, I motion around the sprawling penthouse with views across Central Park. “I’m sorry, you’re right, Stella. I am a fucking monster. Forcing you to spend an entire month here with me instead of at the mercy of Bo and your alcoholic father at that shithole on Mulberry Street.”
She leaps to her feet and lunges. “Vaffanculo!”
I catch her wrist with my good hand before she swings at me. “Don’t,” I snarl.
“Or what?” Her hand is an inch from my face, her body pressed against me. “You’ll rough me up like your goons did to my dad?”
“I don’t hit women.”
“No?” She splays out her fingers and runs her nails across my cheek. Hard. I can feel the blood oozing to the surface.
“Damn it, Stella.” I jerk her hand behind her back, pinning her body to mine. She wriggles against me, those penetrating eyes throwing daggers. “Stop it.” Her breasts are pressed against my chest, spilling over her tank top. I can’t help my gaze from dropping to her tempting cleavage. A hint of a tattoo peeks out from beneath her top, and a lethal mix of rage and excitement streaks through my veins.
Every wiggle has me growing harder.
She lifts her knee and aims for my crotch again, but this time I see it coming. With one hand holding her and the other still nursing my cocktail, I kick my leg out to dodge the blow. Our legs get tangled, and with her incessant squirming and my bad shoulder, I’m knocked off balance.
And we’re falling.
The tumbler crashes to the ground, scotch, ice and glass spraying all over us and across the marble floor. I’m about to land on top of her, but I throw my hand out at the last minute so I don’t crush her. Instead, fiery pain races up my shoulder and blossoms across my wound.Merda.
I hover over her, all my weight on my forearms. I’m sticky and wet, and pissed. I shift to my good arm, and my cock brushes against her panties. I glance between us, and her skirt is up to her waist, exposing a lacy pink thong.
Shit.
I can feel myself hardening against her. Every wiggle, every squirm sends heat racing down to my stupid dick. Her narrowed gaze widens, two pools of endless blue fix to mine and horror streaks through.
“Let go of me!”
She tries to roll out from under me, but I bend my forearms, pinning her down to the floor. A wicked grin slashes across my face. She reaches for something in her pocket, but I catch her wrist before her fingers disappear into the denim. I palm the top of her skirt, just above her hip and meet something hard.
“Stop!” she shrieks.
“What is that?” I dig my fingers into her pocket, and she hisses out another curse. Jerking the little cannister out, I stare in awe at the pepper spray. “Were you really going to use this on me?”
“Maybe,” she spits.
Dio, what have I gotten myself into? I force myself off the ground and jerk her up with me. “What else are you hiding in there?” I eye her tight tank top and frayed jean skirt.
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She pulls her pockets inside out and glares up at me. “See?Niente.”
My eyes lock on her full breasts, then trail down her slim waist and curvy hips. She could definitely be hiding a knife in there, and after earlier, I wouldn’t put anything past her.
I back her against the wall and run my hands down her sides.
“Che cazzo fai?” she screeches.
“What the hell am I doing? I want to make sure you don’t try to knife me in the middle of the night, princess.”
