Page 69 of Carnal Urges
“Something about a moving little speech you made regarding Irish gangsters being better than Russian ones? And an emotional hug for Kieran?”
I say sheepishly, “Oh. That.”
“Aye. That. They found it quite captivating. They’re also impressed with how you’re handling the whole situation.”
“By situation, are you referring to my brain clot or you?”
“I’m not a situation.”
I laugh at that. “Believe me, gangster, you’re a situation with a capitalS.You could turn Gandhi into a serial killer.”
He gazes at me for a moment, then his voice comes warm and low. “As could you, lass. As could you.”
“Look at us, finding so much in common. Pretty soon we’ll have something to talk about other than your inexplicable mood changes.”
A muscle flexes in his jaw. I can tell he’s fighting hard not to smile, and I chide, “C’mon, show me those pearly whites. They’re literally the only good thing about your face.”
“God, I miss when you were asleep. It was so peaceful.”
“Hey, can we ask Kieran to do a food run for us? I asked Nancy to get me a protein smoothie, but she spaced.”
He says drily, “Does the infamous Tinker Bell charm not work on other women?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it does. Nancy’s just freaked out that she’s going to do something wrong and you’ll kill her.” When he doesn’t respond to that, I add, “Could be the threat you made on the doctor’s life. Just guessing.”
One of Declan’s dark eyebrows forms into a dangerous-looking arch. “Did she tell you that or did he?”
“Pfft. Like I’d tell you. I don’t want to be the cause of any attacks on my medical team.”
“You make it sound like I’m a rabid wolf.”
“I was thinking something less macho. Like a squirrel. With plague fleas.”
When I grin at his scowl, he stands and stares down at me. “You know what you need?”
“Yes. A hundred million dollars and a button on my bedside table that gives you a shock every time you ask me a stupid rhetorical question.”
He says darkly, “No. A spanking.”
My breath catches. My stomach flips. I stare up at him, my mouth suddenly dry and my heartbeat galloping.
He reaches out and takes my chin firmly in his hand. He runs his thumb over my lips. Eyes hot, he murmurs, “You like that idea.”
I manage to eke out a no that doesn’t convince either of us.
In a throaty, sexy-as-hell voice, Declan says, “Aye, lass. You like it as much as I do. You like being forced to give up control. Because it never happens.”
I’m bacon sizzling on a griddle. I’m a stick of butter melting under the summer sun. I’m a five-alarm fire that’s about to burn down the entire goddamn building.
“Look at you tremble,” he whispers, fingers tightening on my face. “Look at those eyes.”
Whatever he sees, he’s fascinated by it.
I’m sweating. It’s almost impossible to swallow or breathe. I feel frozen, pinned like a deer in headlights, too stunned to move, too hypnotized to run and save myself.
I don’t want to save myself.
In this moment, all I want is to let him run me over.
