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But she took him down with her—not what he was expecting.
And he landed on top of her—also not what he was expecting.
Fuck.
Shay suspected Roman had purposely landed on her in a way that his weight wouldn’t completely obliterate her lungs.
But that was the last coherent thought in her head as she stared up at him—at the six-foot-ginormous Shadowmaster lying heavily between her thighs, her hips pinned by his. She could feel every muscle in his impressively chiseled body, every weapon. It was too much—too close.
“Get off,” she growled.
He brought his face in close to hers. “Make me.”
“Do you like intimidating girls by squeezing the breath out of them?”
“Just you.”
She didn’t know why, but those two words did something weird to her stomach and heart.
“What’s that?” His voice was a croon. He tilted his head to one side, the corner of his mouth twitching.
She tried to shove him off, but he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the floor on either side of her head, the scrape of his calluses making her shiver. “What’s what?” she squeezed out. Gods, she was panting, her breasts flattening against his chest with every ragged inhale.
“Are those butterflies?” He was so close, she could count every speck of gold in his eyes. “Am I giving you butterflies?” His mouth formed an almost-smile—cold and deadly, like usual. “Is Shayla Cousens enjoying this?” That smile widened—and gods, it made her stomach quake.
She focused on calming her heart—and beating those wild butterflies into submission. “No.”
“You’re a terrible liar, pup,” he breathed, the words caressing her mouth. His hands—so big and rough—squeezed her wrists. “What’s the matter? Have you already lost your edge?”
“Get. Off.”
“Show me first. Show me how you’d get someone off of you if they attacked you.” Her mind was so far in the gutter that at first she thought he was saying ‘get someone off’, as in get him off.
Gods.
“You mean you?” she spat.
“I’m not attacking you. I’m giving you a lesson. Flashy little magic tricks won’t always save your life.” He pressed his warm, solid body into hers and tightened his hold on her wrists. Gods, she could feel things she shouldn’t be feeling—and she could have sworn he was enjoying this as much as he accused her of enjoying it. Roman commanded, “Now show me.”
She knew a lot about combat, but her size and old injury usually put her at a disadvantage. Still, she showed Roman—thrusting up her hips and sweeping her wrists out from under his, causing him to lose his grip on her and fall forward. Purposefully, she knew. There was no way she’d win against him in combat—not in a real fight.
The change in position brought his lower half way too close to her face for her liking.
And then she drove her knee up into his groin—but, of course, he was waiting and blocked it.
He got to his feet and stepped over her. “Good.”
She glared up at him. “You let me win.” She stood on legs that—to her horror—wobbled.
“Of course I did.” He adjusted the big gun tucked into the front of his jeans. “We would’ve been here all night, and the look on your face tells me only one of us would’ve enjoyed ourselves.” He winked and headed for the door. “Let’s go, pup.”
Face red, heart pounding, Shay grabbed her key, not clueing in until she’d left the room…
The gun Roman adjusted?…
Yeah, that wasn’t his gun.
The store really did sell everything it advertised and more. Shay thought it was truly impressive how much they managed to stock in such a small building—no magic or trick of the eyes here.
