Page 7 of Carnal Urges
“Meaning the mafia is more anal than the military when it comes to hierarchy and commands. You already told me you weren’t going to hurt me. Which means when your boss ordered you to nab me and bring me to him for a chat, he also said to make sure I wasn’t harmed on the way. Which means you’ll go to extreme measures to make sure I don’t have anything negative to tell him about the way you treated me during my trip. May I please have a glass of water? My mouth is as dry as a bone.”
We stare at each other for what feels like an hour. He seems to enjoy trying to intimidate me and failing.
Finally, he speaks. Working at the knot in his tie, he says darkly, “That mouth is going to get you into trouble one day, Tinker Bell.”
He whips off his tie and lunges at me.
A startled yelp is all I can manage before he’s on me, pushing me flat to my back and wedging his knee between my legs. We grapple for a moment as I try to get him off me—it’s impossible, this fucker isstrong—until he manages to get both my arms over my head. Then there’s a flash of metal and aclick,and I’m handcuffed.
And furious.
I shout, “You son of a—”
Declan wraps his tie over my mouth and around my jaw and knots it against the back of my head.
Now I’m gagged.
Breathing hard through my nose, I glare up at him in outrage. It’s of little satisfaction that he’s breathing hard, too.
“That’s better.”Nowhe’s smiling, the psychopath.
I try to yellPig!but it comes out muffled. He gets the gist of it, anyway.
Clucking in mock dismay, he says, “Now, now, what kind of language is that for a charming young lady? Didn’t they teach you in finishing school that swearing is unbecoming?”
One more rhetorical question, and I’ll slice off your balls.
He’s sickeningly pleased with himself, the ass. Meanwhile, I’m so mad, I’m almost vibrating.
And he still hasn’t gotten off me.
His forearms are propped on either side of my head. Pelvis to chest, his body rests against mine. He’s warm and heavy, smells faintly of peppermint and something spicy, and I hope that’s a gun in his pants’ pocket, becauseholy…
Our eyes lock. His smile dies. A flicker of something other than disdain appears in his cold blue eyes.
In one swift motion, he rolls off me and stands.
His shoulders stiff and his back to me, he drags a hand through his thick dark hair and snaps, “I wasn’t ordered not to harm you, so don’t fucking test me.”
His voice is so rough and raspy, it sounds like he’s been swallowing rocks. I’m not sure which one of us is more disoriented.
I sit up. He turns and scowls down at me like he’s Lord Voldemort and I’m Harry Potter.
Why is this man socrabby?
I don’t care. I just want to kick him in the shin. No—somewhere more tender.
Before I can shout more muffled curses at him through his necktie, he hauls me up by my wrists, spins me around, backs me up a few steps, then pushes me into the chair he was sitting in. He fastens the lap belt over me, cinching it tightly across my lap. Then he leans down into my face, all muscular and murdery.
He snaps, “You have a choice to make, lass. Either you sit here quietly until the end of the flight, or you continue to test my patience. If you decide to go with option number two, the consequences will be dire.”
I must be psychically telegraphing that I doubt him, because he elaborates.
“I’ll call the boys back here and let them watch while I tear that ridiculous tutu off you and spank your naked ass until it’s red.”
Sweet baby Jesus, I wish I knew Morse code. I would blink this asshole such a terrorist threat with my eyelids that he wouldn’t be able to sleep for the rest of his life.
Whatever he sees in my eyes makes him smile. I hate it that he gets a charge out of infuriating me.
