Page 26 of Pragma
He’s right, but I feel the sudden need to use something of mine to erase any trace of her. “River, I’m already at my fucking limit. Clean that shit! I’ll burn this sweater after I get back home.”
He finally does as I ordered. The feel of his warm breath on my fingers sends a shiver down my spine. With him sitting and me standing, we are eye to eye. The blue is so deep, unfiltered when aimed at me.
“You’d better be only nice to me and keep being a jerk to everyone else, like you’ve always been.” I yank a piece of gum from my jacket, and after unwrapping it, I shove it in my mouth.
“When have I ever been nice to you?”
“You certainly were to her!” I snap, without hiding my annoyance. I grab the business card she slid inside his coat pocket and tear it to small pieces
“You’re such an attention whore,” I think I hear him mutter, before he says loud and clear, “Can’t you see she did it to rile you up? She didn’t give a fuck about me.”
I scoff at his ridiculous words. “Are you blind? She was stripping you with her eyes, she’d have ridden you right here on this very chair.” I slap the wooden armrest with the palm of my hand.
He shakes his head, his lips twitch upward for a moment. He’s stingy with his smiles. But he can’t help it when he has something he’s happy about. Me. My irritation seems to make him fucking elated.
“Get the concept of personal space drilled into your head, or I’ll feel forced to start chopping off fingers.”
He frowns at me. Maybe my possessiveness has increased a notch, but if anything, I’m acting too sanely.
I feel his body stiffen, so I take a step back. He really is like a frightened bunny, and the predator in me is salivating to get him inside my maw.
“I can’t stand this filthy sweater on me. It’s entirely your fault if I get viral warts or herpes from it. Who knows where her lips have been.” I grab my jacket and put it on. “You should wash your mouth with pure alcohol.”
He lets out an exasperated sigh and moves to the door.
“Tell Soma to bring the car up front; we are going shopping.”
I enter the large fitting room as the clerk of the high-end boutique leaves after hanging the few outfits I randomly picked. The door closes behind River.
Operation Snaring the Bunny is a go.
“Do I really need to be here?” he asks, looking around at the dark blue velveteen walls and gold and red armchair.
My wolfish smirk sparkles in the tall three-sided mirrors hanging on the wall, I notice the birds and flowers carved in the wood of the intricate rose gold frame. I start unbuttoning my pants. River has an unfazed expression on his face, but his eyes keep following my fingers’ reflection. The tick in his jaw is such a giveaway.
I bend slightly toward the mirror, pushing my butt out and letting my pants slide down my legs slower than necessary. I want him to savor the novel sight of my sexy-as-fuck champagne lace boxer briefs little by little. I feel rewarded when I see the surprise filling his eye, the desire spreading among the blue, even if only for a brief moment before he hides it behind his usual mask.
He’s really bending over backward to be a good bodyguard and keep it professional. But my baby bunny forgot who he is up against.
I kick my shoes off and the cashmere pants to the side. My legs feel cold, but the anticipation of what might come makes me burn from the inside.
“Help me unzip the sweater.” I point to the nape. I could do it myself, but I need him to come closer.
I hear his muffled steps on the carpeted floor before feeling the tips of his fingers on my lower back as he pushes down the zipper with his other hand. I raise both my arms up to the ceiling and wait for him to pull it over my head…where it gets fucking stuck!
“Is this an assassination attempt?” I try to say, as the sweater’s wool fabric fills my mouth.
“How the fuck did you put this on?” he grumbles, while pulling and stretching.
“I’m a really good contortionist,” I say teasingly and suggestively.
I hear him holding his breath as I finally escape the sweater from Alcatraz, revealing my bare torso. I know he likes what he sees.
But he barks, “Your head is huge.”
“You should see the one in my pants.” I wink at him in the mirror.
“You’re testing me to see just how much I can take before strangling you, aren’t you?” His tone is threatening, but from his gaze and body language, I can see it’s his attempt to put distance between us. Because he wants me. Of course he fucking wants me. I mean, who wouldn’t. And after that kiss and whispering my name, I know he does. I won’t accept anything else.
