Page 3 of At Your Mercy
“Mm.” I finally let him slide forward enough that our mouths brushed—barely there, more suggestion than contact. “Or maybe powerful men are the only ones stupid enough to take the bait.”
That earned me another flicker—his posture tightening, his hand flexing against my chest like he was considering his next move. He tried to push my shoulder back into the couch, to flip the balance, but I didn’t budge. My smile widened as I felt his frustration simmer under the act.
“You’re awfully sure of yourself,” he said, his voice sweet as sugar, yet cutting as glass.
“I’ve earned the right.” I smoothed a hand up his side, over his ribs, until my palm cupped the back of his neck. This time, I pulled him forward, crushing the space between us, kissing him likeIwas the one dictating the pace.
And when I pulled back, leaving him breathless, I whispered against his lips, “Happy birthday to me.”
The look he gave me then—equal parts lust and fury—told me one thing clear as day.
He wasn’t used to losing control.
Ro adjusted in my lap again, his sequined top sliding dangerously low. His hand ghosted over my belt buckle, the kind of move that would’ve been an invitation in any other situation. Here, it felt like a test.
“Let me give you a proper present,” he purred.
His fingers tugged at the leather, but I caught his wrist a second time, firmer now. His eyes flicked up, a flash of irritation behind the pale pink-blue.
“Sorry, but I’m not looking for that kind of present,” I said, voice smooth.
“Oh? You sure about that? You followed me in here after all,” he countered, twisting his wrist subtly, as though testing whether I’d let go.
I didn’t.
I let the silence stretch until his lashes fluttered—whether in real or feigned submission, I couldn’t tell. Then I released him, but not before dragging my thumb across the pulse in his palm. He was steady, too steady, like someone who’d trained themselves to keep calm under fire.
“Tell me something,Ro.” I let his name roll slowly off my tongue, savoring its taste. “You always this generous with your time, or am I special?”
The corner of his mouth curved. “You’re special. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I hummed, pretending to mull it over. “And what makes me so special, babydoll?”
Interest, or maybe curiosity, flitted across his features—gone in a millisecond. He leaned forward quickly, covering the slip with a kiss. His mouth was soft, practiced, and he poured heat into it like a weapon. But I’d been kissed by enough people with ulterior motives to know when I was being played.
I let him kiss me, then nipped his bottom lip, pulling back just enough to murmur, “You’ve got talent, I’ll give you that. But seduction without conviction? Amateur mistake.”
His eyes flashed with irritation. “Maybe I’m just not used to men who talk so much.”
I chuckled lowly. “Then you haven’t been with men, babydoll. You’ve been with boys.”
That landed. His hand tightened in my shirt, and for the first time, his composure cracked into something raw. He moved fast—pressing me back, sliding a thigh between mine, his free hand gliding toward the hidden sheath under his shorts. Smooth, practiced, and almost invisible.
Almost.
My grip closed around his wrist again, harder this time. His eyes widened fractionally when he realized I’d caught him.
“Now,” I whispered, turning his hand outward so he couldn’t reach the blade, “we’re getting somewhere.” The bones and ligaments in his wrist shifted from my tightening hold. If I wanted, they would snap so easily.
The room went still, humming with tension thick enough to choke on. His chest rose against mine, fast and shallow, but his face stayed calm, lips curving in a dangerous smile.
“You’re sharper than you look,” he breathed.
“And you’re sloppier than you think.” I tilted his chin up with my free hand, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Rule number one, Ro: never underestimate your target. Especially when the target’s me.”
His lashes lowered, a mockery of demureness. “And what are you going to do now, Mr. Target? Kill me?”
I smiled. “No, not tonight. You’re far too entertaining.”
