Page 6 of Carnal Urges
It comes back to me as I’m sitting on the toilet: I jumped out of a moving vehicle.
No wonder my shoulder is killing me.
I try to piece together the memory, but the images are dark and shifting. There’s a vague recollection of running down a rainy street with Declan in pursuit, another of adopting a fighting stance in the middle of a circle of him and his thug buddies.
Then nothing.
My stomach is still unsettled, but it’s my throbbing skull that really worries me. I hit my head on the cement when Declan dragged me out of the car in the parking garage. I think I might have already lost consciousness before the drug knocked me out.
A head injury, even a small one, can be big trouble.
Bigger trouble even than being kidnapped and taken to see the leader of the Irish mafia.
I finish up, wash my hands, and head back to where Declan’s waiting at the front of the plane. He watches me approach, wearing an expression like he’s suffering from hemorrhoids.
I sit on the sofa I woke up on and fold my legs comfortably underneath me. “Question: why did I jump out of the car?”
Frowning, Declan looks at my folded legs. “You got one look at the handcuffs Kieran was going to put on you and took a flying leap.”
Yes, that would’ve done it. I’m the one who puts the handcuffs on men, not vice versa. “Was that before or after I broke his nose?”
His lashes lift, and now I’m being roasted by a pair of burning blue eyes. His voice is low and tight. “It must be that brain damage that’s making you forget rule number two.”
I think for a moment. “Which was number two?”
“Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. I’m not so good with rules.”
“Or with following orders.”
“I’m not trying to aggravate you on purpose.” I pause. “Okay, maybe I am a little. But you did kidnap me.”
He glances at my legs again. His expression is one of distaste. Offended by his look, I say, “What?”
“Don’t sit like that.”
“Like what?”
He makes a dismissive motion with his hand to indicate my posture. “Like you’re on the ground in kindergarten class waiting for your teacher to start story time.”
“Floor.”
“Excuse me?”
“You mean floor, not ground. Ground is outside. Floor is in.”
His glare is withering, but I don’t wilt. I smile instead.
He says, “Whoever gave you the idea you’re charming was an idiot.”
“Oh, c’mon. Admit it. You’re already a big fan.”
His expression indicates he might throw up. Then he gets mad and snaps, “What kind of woman isn’t afraid of her kidnappers?”
“One who’s spent a lot of time around men in your line of work and knows how you operate.”
“Meaning?”
