Chapter 8
Brody
Getting there takes fucking ages, but I finally lead Trinity into the lavish lobby of the Cypress Hotel.
I’d never tell Declan, but the place shines even brighter now that he no longer has a stake. Without his influence to ruin things, Maeve really gussied up the establishment.
As we cross the open lobby, our steps echo on the creamy Italian marble. Columns break up the cavernous space, creating multiple seating areas. Potted plants surround the room and provide pops of color.
While I beeline for the reception desk, Trinity drinks in the lobby like we’re on vacation.
The front desk staff, dressed in black collared shirts, know exactly who I am. The majority of them have worked here since before the hostile takeover, back when this hotel still mostly belonged to my father. I stride straight to the VIP check-in counter and wordlessly hold my hand out.
The blond guy behind the computer whips a key card out of somewhere and passes it over with well-manicured hands. “Here you are, sir. Your usual suite.”
With our accommodations secured, I draw Trinity toward the elevator bank. My arms ache from squeezing her delicate palm tightly enough to prevent escape and from obscuring the handcuffs on our wrists.
Given half a chance, Trinity would have tried to ditch me in the subway crowd or dive through traffic to put four lanes of vehicular chaos between us.
Doing things this way kept her in check.
I’m surprised she didn’t attempt to scream or grab someone’s attention, but I guess maybe she does possess some street smarts under all that thick copper hair.
Still, the past hour has been a bitch and a half. All I want to do is haul her ass upstairs, secure her to the first object I find that’s nailed to the floor, and go for a damn smoke.
I’m disgusting and exhausted. I didn’t want to resort to this, but I’m out of options.
As much as it pains me to admit, I need my big sister’s help.
I jab my thumb at the call button so hard that I may have bruised the tip, and then we wait in silence thick enough to drown a puppy as tinkling, classy jazz music washes over us from above.
When the elevator arrives, the car’s empty—thank fuck—and Trinity and I slip inside.
For the first time since I handcuffed us, we’re fully and completely alone, with no witnesses. I can’t stop my chest from deflating and releasing the air that’s been trapped in my lungs.
“Aren’t you supposed to buy me a drink before taking me up to your room?”
The tenor of Trinity’s voice trips me up. She sounds cheerful, almost like she’s a stranger in an elevator and not the person I kidnapped and had to save from death more than once already.
Surprise and irritation braid together in my chest, forming a knot that tightens my shoulders all over again. I’m not amused by her little joke. The little brat is scheming. I just don’t know how.
I subject her to the full arctic blast of my glare. A move my father perfected years before I came along.
I don’t expect her reaction.
Her soft eyes widen, and her lush lips part in a little pout. When her tongue darts out and wets them, fire zips down my spine, like someone dropped a molten rock down the back of my shirt. Tension tightens my muscles.
The elevator lurches to a stop, sparing me from doing something stupid.
We glide through the hallway quickly to my usual suite, Room 614, striding the length of this blue-carpeted corridor with brisk steps. In the west facing walls, large windows bathe us in bright afternoon light, offering primetime views of Santa Monica Beach and the pier beyond.
Once the windows stop, only cream-painted walls, tasteful artwork, and warm lighting remain. Eventually, we reach the suite door and enter. Once we’re inside, I unlink our wrists.
Fucking finally.
Trinity visibly relaxes, holding her newly freed wrist over her heart as she spins in circles to inspect the opulence surrounding us.
I’ve spent so much time up here that this place is about as interesting as the back of my hand.
Plush carpeting, more than one chandelier, a modern kitchenette with gray granite countertops, and a cozy den featuring floor-to-ceiling views of Santa Monica, with the Pacific stretching out into the distance.
Sleek, expensive leather furniture. Enormous flat-screen TV. Fully stocked bar. Balcony. Jacuzzi tub. Boring, but useful.
What I really want is a shower.
“Is this where you bring all your hostages?” Trinity drops her hands to her hips, and I find that her top’s ridden up. The sight of her bare stomach peaking over the waist of those baggy pants tantalizes me for no good reason.
Fresh irritation prickles deep in my chest.
“Not quite.” I grab her hand again and lead her to the bedroom. Is it just my imagination, or did she gulp the second I touched her?
“Oh.” She flutters those long eyelashes. “Declan expects you to bed the women he orders you to kidnap?”
My mind immediately conjures images of the two of us together on the king-sized bed. Naked.
I squeeze the back of my neck. Why is she talking like this?
Refusing to even dignify that absurd question with a response, I march her over to the mattress and push her onto the perfect cream comforter.
Her question prompts another image of her on her knees at the foot of the bed, peering up at me through teary eyes with my dick crammed down her throat, and I suck in a breath as desire gut-punches me.
Narrowing her eyes, she tilts her head and studies me. A small, satisfied smile tips up her lips, almost as if she can pluck the dirty thoughts right from my mind. “Your foreplay skills could use some work. Women usually expect dinner, a date, and at least a kiss before the full bedroom tour.”
I eye her like she’s a ticking time bomb. When we got to the suite, I expected another insult- and expletive-laced tirade. Instead, Trinity Gallagher has decided to flirt with me. Like the floor suddenly slanted and the room started tilting, I can’t find my footing.
Trinity reclines on the bed. She puts her hands behind her on the pillow like she’s sunning herself on a beach without a single care in the world. As if there’s nothing at all strange about her trying to seduce her kidnapper.
Because clearly that’s what’s happening here. I’m not an idiot. Although, maybe I am one after all, because I’d love to see how this plays out.
I can’t help the way my eyes gravitate toward her gentle curves. The lift of her breasts, the indent of her partially exposed waist… If not for those baggy, shape-obscuring pants, I’d have a perfect view of those gorgeous legs—
Fucking focus, Brody.
With effort, I tear my gaze away. Once I finish this mission, I’ll go out and find myself a willing woman to take all of this pent-up sexual frustration out on. But until then, I can’t slip.
Whatever happens, I won’t let Trinity Gallagher get the better of me.
Even if she is sexy enough to short-circuit all my brain cells.
Before I can fully recover, she hooks me with the sultry swing in her voice. “I guess I didn’t say thanks for…earlier.”
My hands clench at my sides. “Thanks?” I was joking when I said that.
“You saved me.” Her pretty teeth dig into that delectable bottom lip. “I know I shouldn’t be impressed since we’re not exactly on the same side. But your knight-in-shining-armor thing was…sexy.”
Fuck.
Lust curls from my gut, and the material around my fly tightens.
She’s messing with me. Of course she is.
The witch just wants me to lower my guard so she can sprint for the hills. The problem is that even though I’m one-hundred-percent aware of her ploy, I can’t deny that part of me is still very much into this. I haven’t been laid in ages. At this point, a stiff breeze could probably turn me on.
And Trinity Gallagher’s a damn sight better than a stiff breeze. She’s gorgeous.
Whether she’s aware or not, she’s playing with fire.
Still, I maintain my silence. The moment I respond to one of her taunts, she gains power over me. And that’s not happening.
I refuse.
With so much already on the line, I can’t afford to get mixed up in her hot, dirty mind games.
In a slow, tantalizing gesture, Trinity sits up and runs her hand over her thigh. “If I’m being honest…” Against my will, my gaze tracks the motion before jolting back up to her face. Her lids dip low over those gemstone eyes. “After today, I can’t help but wonder what dangerous men taste like.”
Shock rips through my body, and every muscle stills.
What. The. Fuck.
An instant later, the lust in my stomach detonates, and I smile.
Okay, then. If Trinity wants to weaponize her sexuality and engage in games, I’ll show her how I wreak havoc and play to win.
Without a word, I climb onto the bed with her. My knees land on either side of her hips, trapping her in place. Alarm flashes across her face, a bright spark of light during a dark night.
So she’s not as confident as she pretends. Too bad for her, I’m all geared up.
Crushing my lips to hers, I push us both over the cliff she’s been dancing on these past few minutes. Her startled gasp satisfies the newfound competitive edge in my soul.
She’ll learn not to mess with things she doesn’t understand.
I plan to teach her a swift lesson, but even I can’t predict the volt of hot, crackling electricity that fries me to a crisp the second our tongues meet in a seductive wrestling match.
She refuses to submit, instead challenging me with every stroke.
Her delicate floral aroma and delicious flavor shoot straight to my dick, which presses almost painfully against my zipper.
I’m enjoying this a little too much.
She tastes like sugar, and I’m a liar if I claim I don’t crave more. Her infuriating mouth entices me. Impulses fire deep in my core, chanting at me to stuff something else in her mouth besides my tongue.
I shouldn’t respond to her this way.