Page 7 of Prince of Control
Oh good. It’s nice to know that the killer I was promised to has nice manners.
He waits until I get in, like a chauffeur. I refuse to look at him until I realize he’s leaned his forearm against the top of the car and is peering down at me.
“Is there a gun in your purse, Lara?” His voice has a teasing quality.
My knuckles whiten on the purse, and my gaze snaps up to where he looms over me. I see amusement in his brown eyes, and the slight curve of his lips.
Cold washes through me. He’s so confident, he’s not afraid of a loaded gun.
No answer comes to mind. My jaw clenches as I glare up at him.
“You planning on shooting me?” Again, he’s completely relaxed. Seemingly amused by me.
Oh, look at my cute bride who showed up with a gun to kill me.
I try and fail to swallow. My face burns. My legs tremble, ready to run like a gazelle away from the lion chasing me.
He holds his palm out. “Give me the gun, printsessa. We’re not going to hurt each other in that way.”
In what way are we going to hurt each other, Benjamin?
That thought has me imagining a measured hurt. The pain-for-pleasure type.
Wait, no.
I am not imagining Benjamin Baranov tying me up and whipping me with a riding crop.
That’s…nuts. I’m not interested in that.
I eye his tattooed knuckles, wondering what it would be like to have them closed around my throat while we have sex.
Will he force me?
Why am I picturing him forcing me?
I don’t want that. Of course, I don’t.
I don’t move, so he makes a beckoning gesture with his fingers. “The gun, Lara.” The teasing quality drops away from his voice. I hear cold authority.
I sit there and debate what would happen if I said no. Or if I pulled it out and pointed it at him.
I realize that despite his relaxed pose, his gaze is intense. Focused. If I pointed the gun at him, I’d have to be willing to pull the trigger.
As if he reads my thoughts, he shakes his head. “You’re not a killer, printsessa. And you’re safe with me. Or you will be if you behave.”
Something about his gentle coaxing breaks me. Tears burn behind my eyes.
I don’t want him to see them, so I thrust the whole purse his way and look away as he opens it and removes the pistol, tucking it into his waistband like a pro.
When he slides into the seat beside me, I ask, “Are you a killer, Benjamin?”
He turns to study me. I hold my breath under the intensity of his gaze.
“I’ve killed.”
I can’t breathe.
He starts the SUV and puts it in drive. “And I’d kill again–for you.”
