Page 8 of Too Cursed To Kiss
My captor’s face was shrouded in half shadow from a streetlight. I half leapt, half fell at him, grabbing fistfuls of soft T-shirt, which ripped as I clawed my way up to his neck, going for his eyes. He turned his head, and I got my feet under me. I smacked him hard, then fell on him, pounding him with my fists as he stumbled back. We tumbled to the pavement, my leggings tearing and knees grating on the asphalt.
The pain flared, tinging the world red. Now that I was free, I was far less eloquent. “Oh, Christ, it’s you,” I yelped, pushing myself up to straddle him. He was still wearing the goddamned sunglasses and smelled like a cat who’d rolled in mowed grass. His chest was rock hard.
“This is how you thank me for saving you?” he asked. His full bottom lip twitched. It wasn’t a smirk, or was it? He shifted his weight onto his hands, lifting his upper body up under me like I was a kitten.
“If this is saving, I’d hate to see what you call kidnapping. You shoved me into your trunk!” I rolled off him. According to the way his lips curled at the corners, he’d had a perfect view up my skirt. Thank God for leggings.
“It was to protect you. You’ve been poisoned, or rather youwerepoisoned. You should be fine now.” The ease with which he stood up was jaw-dropping, and despite the currentsituation, his presence demanded my attention—like he was a sex-energy magnet.
“I don’t need your protection, thank you very much.” I tugged my skirt back into place while avoiding his face. There was serious muscle under that lean physique. My type. Damn him. Perfect. Now I was ogling the kidnapper. “Why would I need your protection?” I asked, torn between running away and waiting to hear why he’d abducted me—and why his trunk was lined in velvet. But maybe I really didn’t want to know the answer?
“I’m hoping you won’t.” He was giving me that same half smile, but he hadn’t moved.
“Vague enough?” I did a self-check. I was freezing, but I didn’t feel sick. Miraculously my stinging knees weren’t bleeding.
The sky had a light blue-black tint with a peachy glow from the east. Almost dawn. Great. I’d screwed up Tyre’s drop. I was alive but poor. Not much different from this morning, except Gentry was dead. Jeezus. Gentry was dead. “Thanks for whatever, then, I guess. Can I have my purse back now, please?” I reached out a hand palm up.
Clove-smoke crossed his arms and jutted his chin out. “I’m very sorry. I wasn’t able to save it.”
“Excuse me? Save it? From what? Where the hell is it?” I hadn’t really meant to yell the last part. My life was in that purse.
I lunged at him. “Take off those damn glasses,” I snarled. Apparently, being unhinged trumped abraded knees.
His hands parried my attempts as if I were a gnat, plucking my wrist out of the air, then effortlessly twisting my arm behind my back. The weird musk of him had a hint of warmed leather which was oddly calming. His arm banded me against his chest like a tiger hugging its prey. I shoved mywhole ample weight against him to get him off-balance, but the guy was a goddamned monolith.
“Let go!” I shrieked and tried again.
He let me go.
The ground rushed up, but arms gathered me mid fall like I was a dandelion puff.
Damn he was fast—and strong.
“Careful, I’m not used to having women attack me.” His voice softened from challenge to something else.
“Well if you lock them in your trunk, you’d better get used to it.” Shaking his hands off, I teetered away from him, crushing the urge to take one last swipe at the glasses. I choked back bile while the darkness rushed at me. Okay, maybe I was still sick. I sat down a healthy distance away from him because walking farther was beyond my current capability. “Talk, asshole. Tell me about my purse being unsavable. What does that even mean?”
He crossed his arms and leaned against a streetlight. “The ring absorbs things, and your purse was flammable.” His response was wooden like I’d asked him the time.
“Hang on, you mean it burst into flames because of that fucking ring?” I sucked in a couple of deep breaths. Oxygen was supposed to quell nausea.
He turned and began to walk to the car.
“Stop. I still have questions.” But he kept going. Using strength I didn’t know I still had, I got up and rushed at him, grabbing the back of his jacket.
“Don’t touch me,” he growled, whirling as he shook me off. The low rumble of his voice undulated through me.
I teetered back. I should be running away, but he obviously didn’t care if I stayed or left, so I wasn’t exactly in danger from him. “You aren’t going anywhere until I know three things: Who the hell you are, why your ring blows uppurses, and why your trunk is lined with velvet—and where the ring is now. Oh, and how the hell you knew I was poisoned—and why I was in your trunk? That should cover it.”
He paused, his jaw feathering, but then he continued to the car, and rested his butt against the trunk. “My name is unimportant. The ring is special. My trunk, as you call it, is also special, and it holds things safely. I know where the ring is. I can sense things. The poison should be gone now, and you were safe—in my trunk.” His lip turned up on the last word.
I fantasized wiping the amusement off his face. It would be super fun to lock him in his own velvet coffin. “Safe from who? Or what?”
“I answered yoursixquestions. You should be cured now. I wish you good luck.” He turned his back to me and walked around to the driver’s side.
“Wait. No. You’re not leaving yet.” I stumbled into a half-hearted run. Careening past him, I half-collapsed on him as he turned back to me.
My stomach cramped, and I doubled over with a screech filled with the terror of knowing what’s going to happen when you throw up and are desperately trying to avoid it. He caught me as I fell forward, his bare arms cool on my skin, and then he licked me again.
