Page 84 of Hostile Bond
“I’ll bite you, baby. All fucking night long.”
I back up from the window, my heart pounding and my knees weak. I’m in front of the shallow closet in seconds, hurriedly flicking hung garments back and forth to find something suitable to wear. Boxes of clothes arrived yesterday after I’d chosen items online and he placed the order for expedited delivery.
Picking an outfit that’s more my style, and in some ways similar to his, I wiggle my ass into skinny charcoal jeans, slip a V-neck t-shirt over my head, and grab the buttery leather black jacket with gold zips on the sleeves. Shoving my feet into a pair of flat boots, I fumble with the laces, and then tie my hair into a low ponytail.
Before I leave, I dart into the bathroom to spritz a cloud of perfume over myself and sweep a little bronzer on my cheekbones to brighten my pasty complexion. I’m still waiting for the pregnancy glow to appear, or maybe that's a myth, like how heroes are the good guys.
My hero is a crazy motherfucker who’d literally set a room on fire with one look if someone crossed him—or me.
Content I’m ready for him, I leave the privacy of our sanctuary behind and dart along the corridor, knowing my way from the bedroom to the staircase now.
Adrenaline courses through my veins. The excitement of rekindling childhood adventures with my best friend, on the back of a motorcycle, is exactly what I need right now. An evening where we’re wild and free––just the two of us––like it was back then. Despite the thrill of it, I’m not sure riding on a motorcycle is wise now I have a tiny life to protect.
Mulling over my situation, I trot down the stairs, my hand on the balustrade. I stop dead when Conal appears out of the shadows, his expression slightly more animated than I’m used to.
Slowly, he treads the carpeted stairs to meet me in the middle, stopping before me as a buffer to the exit.
His head cocks to the side and he asks, “Something wrong?”
My brows pinch together, my features reluctant to hide my loathing of him. “Yeah, you’re in my way.”
Conal shakes his head, pockets his hand in a pair of casual slacks, and takes a sideways step. In order to pass him, I would have to move between the spindles and his regal form, stepping into the shadow he creates. I wouldn’t normally second guess my next move, but danger explodes over my scalp like a blast of needles. He could easily push me, and with no one around to witness my fall, it would be my word against his.
“You look better than you did when you arrived,” he says the compliment with a condescending tone. “Less pathetic and weak.”
As I take a shallow sip of oxygen and lower onto the same step as him, I grip the handrail for support, raise my chin, and stare right into his cold eyes. “And you’re still an ugly fucker who thinks I’m scared of you.”
“You should be,” he replies without any hint of annoyance.
But rather than let him under my skin, or gift his threat with bitter words, I continue to descend the stairs at a determined pace, aware of his eyes burning into the back of my head. When I drop off the final step, I pivot on the spot and meet his curious gaze.
“Maybe one day you’ll receive an invitation to Sicily from your nephew––tomyterritory. I’m sure my husband would be happy to show you about the kingdom I rule over. Until then, go fuck yourself.”
I can’t help myself and flip him the bird. Not just one middle finger, but both, only to hear a menacing chuckle like he’s amused. He doesn’t reply. Even if he did, I wouldn't hear it or care, since I’m racing out of the front door to find André.
The closer I get to him, the faster my heart pumps. It feels good to be alive. Something dark passes over his features. Those coal-colored eyes narrow at my approach. “Is running a good idea?”
I laugh, throwing my arms around his neck and crashing my mouth over his. He fists my hair and returns my affection with a possessive open-mouthed deep kiss, so wet and hungry that we both groan.
The intoxicating taste of liquor mixed with the scent of leather and smoke evokes a potent flare of desire within me for the father of my unborn baby. I used to think it was a toxic curse, and now I’m certain it’s a blessing.
“I love that you’re worried about me,” I mutter into his mouth. “It turns me on.”
His hair tumbles over his brow, almost brushing his thick brows. Raking the lengths away with long fingers, he says in his low, sensual accent, “What else turns you on?”
“Bad boys who ride motorcycles,” I laugh, linking my fingers with his.
“Well, Wifey, you’ve upgraded from a bad boy on a motorcycle to a very bad man who’s taking you on an adventure in that thing instead.” He points to the matte-black Jeep with monster-sized wheels parked on the gravel near the opening to the forest. “There’s no way I’d risk taking you for a spin on the back of a motorcycle now you’re pregnant.”
I chew the inside of my mouth, secretly relieved and a little disappointed. “I guess everything really is different now.”
André gets off his dirt bike and throws his arm around my shoulder, yanking me into him. “Different––but better.”
“Oh, yeah?” I peer up at him, cursing the silly butterflies in my chest. “What’s better about not being able to go for a ride with you like old times?”
“Because I get to fuck you nowadays, Wifey.” His sonorous laugh rumbles in the crisp air as he opens the passenger door for me. “I have something for you to ease the disappointment. Let me get in and I’ll show you.”
Once he slams the door shut, he jogs around the hood and climbs into the driver’s seat. Fishing his phone out of his jacket, he taps the screen and scrolls for a few seconds. “Here…” His hand reaches over the top of the gearshift. “Watch the whole video.”
