Chapter 43
forty-three
. . .
Light peeking through my lids had me opening my eyes. For a moment I forgot where I was, just letting my senses drift. Teal walls, dark curtains, white molded ceiling, soft sheets, the distinct warmth against my side.
Then the memory stuck hard, pausing the air in my chest, feeling the bruises blooming across my hips where he’d held me, his teeth at my throat, remembering his weight pinning me to the mattress, the way I’d arched into him as he fucked me, begging him not to stop.
His mouth, his hands, his lips, his tongue, his cock, they’d known no boundaries.
He’d used them in ways I didn’t think possible, and his stamina, oh my God, if I didn’t know better, I’d believe it was otherworldly.
Even after washing me in the shower, he’d allowed me to sleep but sometime during the night, I woke to him inside me, fucking me in a slow taunt, that had me succumbing and disgustingly begging him for more.
Still, I hated him, his arrogance, that killer smirk, that maddening smile and that oh so sexy laugh. Yet undeniably I shouldn’t be feeling this fulfilled, this relaxed, not with someone I should despise.
Slowly I turned my head, my gaze lowering to the sleeping man beside me, the monster who kidnapped me, undone me and fallen asleep like it was the most natural thing to do with someone you didn’t know.
I wriggled a little, annoyance coaxing me to wake him and demand he take me home. However, Remo slept with a stillness borne not of peace but certainty, a man confident he owned the world and maybe he did.
Sunlight filtered through a slit in the curtain, cutting across the broad planes of his tattooed chest. One arm tucked under his head, the other lay heavy over my thigh, his grip possessive or perhaps keeping me prisoner.
Even though a sheet obstructed a skin-on-skin touch, his body radiated heat that strangely charmed me to stay still, to watch him unhindered.
His hair mussed from my fingers, the faint stubble along his jaw, the shadow of a smirk even in slumber, the overpowering scent of intoxication all described him well.
Dangerous. Beautiful. Infuriating.
Annoyance prickling my skin, I eased his arm off me, taking care not to wake him and sat up, the sheet falling to my hips, baring my naked breasts.
Although I felt no embarrassment, I needed to get out of there.
Run before he had a chance to tie me down.
Anger might’ve championed the decision, but I had to admit that Remo Rossi was a distraction I didn’t want.
We belonged on opposites sides of the law and that’s where I intended to stay.
About to slide off the bed, a glint of something beneath his pillow caught my attention.
Of course, he’d sleep with his weapon this close.
Curiosity, mischief and some wild stirring inside me had me reaching for it.
The gun was heavier than I expected and cool against my warm skin.
I turned it over in my hand, inspecting the black metal.
For one reckless second, I imagined ending it all and pointed the gun at him, maybe using it as leverage for my freedom. I wondered what he’d do if he woke to find me holding it. What kind of man slept so soundly beside an enemy. My heart stuttered, my finger brushing the trigger.
“Pull it,” his voice rasped, rough with sleep.
I jumped, nearly dropping the gun. His eyes were open, half-lidded, his expression brimming with amusement, reminding me of a lazy predator watching his prey fumble.
“I thought you were asleep,” I muttered, breathless.
“You think I’d sleep with a thief in my bed?” He smirked, voice deepening.
“Thief?”
He stretched, every muscle moving beneath golden skin, utterly unbothered by just how frustratingly sexy he looked and the fact I held a loaded weapon. “You stole my night, my patience, my time.” His gaze flicked to the gun. “And now you’re holding one of my favorite toys.”
I rolled my eyes, trying to mask the effect his sensual lethargy was having on my lady bits. “You keep your toy under your pillow?”
“Only when I have company I don’t trust.”
“Then maybe you should’ve tied me up.”
His lips curved, that smile so damn delicious I was having a hard time trying to act disinterested. “The thought crossed my mind.” His eyes flicked down to my breasts briefly. “But I liked watching you sleep.”
My brow shot up. “That’s creepy.”
“That’s honesty.” He shrugged, shifting upward and folding his arms behind his head, the sheets sliding down to his hips.
The sight of that deceiving ‘v’ made my throat dry. I pointed the gun at him. “You really don’t scare easily, do you?”
“You think I’d be afraid of a woman who claimed to hate me yet spent the night begging a monster not to stop fucking her?”
My cheeks flushed crimson. “You’re insufferable.”
“Sure you don’t want to use it?” He jerked his chin at the weapon.
“Maybe I should.”
“Then do it,” his tone dropped, dark and teasing. “Or come here and prove you’re braver without it.”
His dick twitched beneath the sheet and my breath hitched. He was baiting me, much like the way he did last night when every argument between us turned into a burning touch and every insult into a kiss.
I eyed him long enough for him to see indecision mask my intention to run then set the gun on the nightstand. Slowly I stood, feeling the faint tremble of my legs and the heavy ache between them.
“I don’t need to prove anything to you.” I headed for the bathroom, my pace unhurried, hoping to convince him I was not about to give in. Inside, I locked the door behind me, stupidly believing he couldn’t kick it down if he wanted and waited a few minutes.
Thankfully, he didn’t knock, call out or break down the door and satisfied he wasn’t going to, I stepped into the shower.
Steam curled around me as I tipped my head back under the shower spray, the hot water washing away the evidence of Remo’s touch yet not the imprint it left on my aching body.
I hadn’t meant to stay. Before I went to sleep last night, I promised myself to run the first chance I got.
But now, standing in his shower surrounded by dark marble, the scent of his shampoo in my hair and bodywash on my skin, the thought of leaving felt absurdly distant.
The stark reminder had me closing the faucet with an unladylike snort.
I stepped out, grabbing one of his oversized towels and caught my reflection in the mirror.
My lips were swollen, my neck, breasts and hips blemished with dark hickeys, and teeth marks yet my eyes shone bright with something I couldn’t fathom. I almost laughed.
Kidnapped by a man, fucked by a monster.
As I dried myself, I remembered my torn scrubs.
“Dammit,” I grumbled, certain I could’ve been more strategic and fought him off or held him at gunpoint and demanded he take me back.
Instead, I locked myself in his bathroom.
“Way to go, dumbass.” I wrapped the towel around me and opened the door with enough force to let it hit the wall.
“Take me–” I paused, realizing I was alone in the room. “Remo?”
No answer.
I walked to the window, hoping for an escape and grimaced.
This high off the ground I’d probably break my neck if I jumped.
Rolling my eyes, I glanced over my shoulder at the glass doors to his walk-in closet and padded there, taking in the rows of shirts and pants on one side, jackets on the other, folded t-shirts and shoes in front. All neatly color-coded.
“OCD much,” I muttered, swapping the towel for one of his button-down shirts. Thankfully, it fell mid-thigh, offering some decency if I encountered one of his men. Leaving my wet hair to hang loose, I left the room.
The moment I reached the stairway, the sinful smell of garlic, butter, roasted tomatoes and freshly ground coffee beans yanked my nose down the stairs, through a long hallway and into a large sunlit kitchen.
I froze.
Barefooted, bare torso, grey sweatpants slung low enough to expose the top of a tight ass, dark hair mussed from sleep, pan in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other, Remo stood at the stove top.
The morning sun danced over the firm muscles of his back, lighting the ink winding over his shoulder.
Despite the picture-perfect scene of bliss, a gun holster hung on a chair beside him, just within reach, reminding me of who he really was.
He glanced over his shoulder; his face relaxed with a mischievous smile, his eyes sweeping down my body, lingering on my bare legs before lifting back to my face. “Breakfast?”
“I need to go.” I snapped out of my delirium. “I need clothes and I need to get to the hospital.”
“You look good in my shirt,” he said it so calmly, I wanted to scream.
I stomped closer. “You cannot kidnap me, sleep with me and then–”
“Make you breakfast?” He arched a brow. “Sure I can. I’m doing it perfectly.” He winked.
“Stop acting like last night meant–”
“Last night meant plenty.” He leaned his hip against the counter, spoon idly tapping the pan as his eyes dragged slowly up my legs, my thighs, my throat and mouth before meeting mine. “I’m just waiting for you to admit it.”
My cheeks heated. “You forced me.”
Setting the pan down, he moved toward me, slow, predatory. “Says the woman who rode my cock like it was a wild stallion.”
“That–” I choked, “–was adrenaline or fear, take your pick.”
He slid a finger under my chin and tilted my face up. “Then you should be careful, little fox.” His lips touched my jaw, a ghostly contact but it made my breath falter. “Because if that wasn’t wanton desire, you’re going to be a disaster when it is.”
My knees buckled, irritation filling my chest. Pulling in a deep breath, I stepped back. “I’m not hungry.”
“Yes, you are.” His eyes took on a wicked glint. “Either you eat what I made you or I stuff my cock down your throat, and you drink my cum like it’s the best damned coffee you’ve tasted.”