Chapter 9
9
RUTGER
B ijou’s voice shakes. “I could press kidnapping charges because that’s what this is. And if you cross state lines?—”
“Do what you need to,” I interrupt coldly. As a fugitive recovery agent, I’m not sweating her empty threat.
“It sure seems like an awfully big coincidence. You being in that alley when I needed a ride.”
I stare ahead, hissing through clenched teeth, “You got lucky.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it. Or else I’d be at home right now, taking a hot bubble bath and reading a romance novel. Not handcuffed to your damn car.”
I have to peel my mind away from the thought of her covered in suds, devouring naughty books. To compensate for the flush of my cheeks, I point at the car clock, arguing, “No, you’d still be on stage shaking your fucking ass and panting into the mic for a room full of losers.”
She twists her uncuffed hand in the skirt of her gown, looking at me.“I meant after the third set. When I got home.”
“Whatever.”
“You seem jealous, Rutger.”
I laugh again. “That’s a rich fucking statement. Jealous of what?”
“Me ‘shaking my ass and panting into the mic.’ As I remember, you never minded me doing that for you.”
We’re crossing into dangerous territory now. Something I can’t allow. “Bijou, could you please shut your fucking mouth? I’m trying to think.”
“You never missed one of my performances at the Diamond…”
The last thing I need is a walk down Memory Lane. “Shh…,” I command. “Or I’ll duct tape your mouth shut.”
“You wouldn’t do that…” Her eyes round, and she presses her lips together.
Finally, some peace and quiet. Thank goodness.
A moment later, big, fat teardrops splatter down her cheeks.
Shit. This is even worse.
I try to ignore her sobs. But I can’t.
“Stop it.” My callous order makes the tears flow faster. “Please don’t cry,” I plead, my voice sounding far less hate-filled and distrustful than I intend it to.
Teddy Swims comes on the radio: “Lose Control.” I turn up the volume some more to distract her. She wipes her cheeks.
Softly, she says, “I love this song.”
“Me, too,” I grumble before catching myself.
She flashes a languid smile, her bottom lip trembling and her hand shaking. Seeing the cute gap in her front teeth rips my heart wide open.
Dammit .
I long to trace it with my thumb like I used to after we kissed. Her sweet and tart taste—like Georgia peaches—infuses my thoughts. Despite myself, my lips thirst for her…. But I can’t have her.
Instead, I fume.
She sings along, her seductive voice capturing Teddy’s desperation and piling the lyrics high with plenty of her own yearning. It’s simultaneously breathtaking and awful. I could live ten lifetimes without hearing her siren call again. All ten would be boring as hell…
Suddenly, she scolds, “I suppose you think you helped me. But I didn’t need your help.”
“I saved your goddamn life.” I never should have grabbed her. Biggest fucking mistake of my life, from her mane of curly black hair to her fragile cheekbones dusted with sexy freckles and her drop-dead, perfectly proportioned curves.
I grip the steering wheel, feeling her dark magic at work as she goes back to singing with the radio. Her voice’s soulful overtones, seductive slides, and dark timbres take root in my spirit. I have to make her stop…
As if sensing what she’s doing to me, she leans into my ear, whispering the last note on a hot breath. Tremors of desire shuttle straight to my heart.
Damn her!
Changing the satellite station, I find a death metal station.
“Oh, come on! Really? Are you trying to kill me here? This is like torture.” The volume’s so loud that she has to yell in my direction.
“Well, the other stuff is torture to me.”
“Really, Rutger? Didn’t you just admit you loved that song?”
I frown. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“I don’t believe you,” she challenges, jutting her bottom lip. “I’d rather listen to nothing than this…” She reaches for the controls.
“Don’t even fucking think about it,” I growl. I may be unreasonable. But aggravation is a happy replacement for her tears. At least, I stand a fighting chance of resisting that emotion.
“Are you really gonna do me like this, baby?”
“Don’t call me ‘baby,’” I spit.
“No offense, but I call everyone baby, baby.” Her hands reach for the radio controls again, messing with the stations, returning us to her shit.
Our shit …
I order, “Just shut it off. We need to talk.”
No, we don’t.
The seductive magic she’s weaving in this vehicle has to stop. So, I pick a fight. “I saved your ass from that active shooter tonight. You’d be delusional to think otherwise, and I’m still waiting on a ‘thank you.’”
“A ‘thank you?’ Not while I’m handcuffed.” She tips the front of my cowboy hat, eliciting a furious glare from me. “Besides, I had already escaped.” Her voice rings with triumph as she plants her juicy lips firmly together.
The gesture stirs my cock. My lack of self-control disgusts me. You detest this woman…
Bijou continues, “And I don’t remember asking for your help anyway.”
My voice sounds strained as I question, “So, I should have left you there? To get gunned down by your brother and his goons?” The psychotic look on Raul’s face remains burned in my brain. So does the visual vitriol he directed at his sister. No matter who started the firefight, Bijou needs to acknowledge how dangerous he is. Especially to her.
Her brows shoot skyward, and her eyes round. “Gunned down by my brother? What are you talking about? He’s in New Orleans.” The tremble in her voice catches my attention.
Could she really be this clueless about her brother’s whereabouts? I can’t believe her, no matter how much I want to.