Page 49 of Mercenary
“I’m sorry. Forget what I said. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was simply trying to understand you better but I can see I’ve dragged up some sad memories . . .”
My girl’s going straight for the kill.
Problem is—she’s dealing with a professional killer.
I grab the hem of my T-shirt and practically rip the shirt off my body. I kick off my shoes, then unbutton my pants.
And Madelyn stands as still as a statue, clutching the red nightgown in her hand as her eyes widen with awareness.
Good girl or not, my girl has a thing for my body. A fact made crystal fucking clear back at the rest-stop shower.
“You wanna hear about my relationships?” I ask.
I see her swallow hard. Nervously. Which is why she floors me, when I hear her whispered “Yes.”
Damn it.
“I fuck women. Like an animal fucks, with them bent over the bed and moaning into the mattress while I ride them hard. I fuck women and they beg me for more. I fuck them hard, mercilessly, so they can barely walk me out as I leave. But I always leave, never stay. No sweet whispers from me. No fake promises, not my style.”
Madelyn mouth’s dropped open, her pretty lips parted.
Shocked.
And goddamn it, slightly aroused—yeah, I see it in her eyes, her picturing what I described.
My pulse begins to thunder. My cock so hard, it hurts.
Hit the shower. End this right now.
“That what you want?” I ask.
“Um . . . I don’t know,” she whispers back. “I never—”
“—go into the bathroom and get ready for bed,” I cut her off harshly, “before I change my mind.” Unzipping my jeans, I step out of them, my thick erection springing free. I hear her gasp, her catching sight of my raging hard-on. The breathless sound making me harder than shit.
The brain is the most powerful muscle in your body. Yet mine sucks balls right now. Because I’ve lost my mind. Probably lost the damn thing four months ago back inside her trailer.
Fuck. I don’t have time for this bullshit.
“I don’t think I’m ready for . . . animal . . .”
I blink. “What?”
“Us. Fucking like animals.”
Holy mother-loving hell. Is she serious . . . ? “You’re not.”
I’m not.
She tosses the nightgown over her shoulder, then moves across the room to stand before me. Blocking my path to the bathroom. Making my decision for me.
“Madelyn . . .”
“I like you,” she says softly, drawing up close.
“ . . . don’t fuck with me.”
“Why shut people out? What are you afraid of?”
