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“They?”
I’m intrigued and she nods. “My mother’s husband, definitely not my father, just laughed and said it worked for them. It provided a good cover to protect the women’s real identities, whatever that was supposed to mean.”
Damien catches my eye, and the rage burns inside me. We have reached a fucking dead end and Carter probably already knew that. We have been played for fools and even this woman knows it.
The tension in the room is at crisis level as I consider my options and I stare into the flickering flames and take a deep breath before turning and fixing my assassin with an enigmatic smile.
“I believe our reservations are waiting. Shall we?”
I move closer and offer her my arm and as I pass Damien, I fix him with my usual irritated glare. He knows what to do now we have a name and a cover story. He will be up all night making sure I have the information I require by the time I’ve fucked my captive out of my mind later on tonight.
CHAPTER 8
LILLI
Iam out of my depth. I already realized that when he pulled the hood off my head. I understood when he gently wiped away my blood and touched my skin with a tenderness that surprised me. Now I’m in his home, surrounded by incredible wealth and people who scare the shit out of me.
I am drowning.
I don’t belong in this world. I’m a square peg in a round hole and I’m unsure what to do about that.
As we walk through his designer home, I try not to be impressed by wealth, but I can’t help it. I wish I had more time to enjoy the surroundings. To explore and commit to my memory a place I will never see the like of again.
My mind is on sensory overload, and it’s not just this place. It’s him. The ruthless stranger who I should be freaking scared of but have an interest in that’s not good for my health.
“Breathe, Lilli.” His soft voice wafts across my soul like an approaching storm. Husky, seductive even, and his accent a serious aphrodisiac.
His muscles ripple under my touch and his aftershave lulls my senses into compliance. He is a magnetic force that I couldn’t resist if I tried.
“I am breathing.” I snap, trying hard to hate him. To distance myself from my fascination with him, that is growing by the second.
He chuckles softly. “I scare you.”
He is stating the fucking obvious and I snap back, “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I am stating a fact. Why the attitude?”
I hiss. “Because you kidnapped me. I didn’t ask to be here. To be dressed like a fucking doll and manhandled by your, um, men and a woman who needs a serious personality implant.”
“Watch your language.”
“My language.” I stop and stare at him in surprise.
“That is the only thing you got from that, um, statement. Mind your fucking bollocking language.”
I’m goading him. I want to push him and I’m doing a good job of that, judging by the fire that flashes from his eyes as he stares at me with cold fury.
It’s the reaction I wanted because he has got to understand that kidnapping a woman in broad daylight and taking her to some kind of fucked-up torture chamber isn’t how we do things in this country.
He shakes his head and appears disappointed, which makes me feel even worse. Why do I care if I disappoint him and then he shocks me by reaching up and stroking my face, an act that I am trying so hard to resist? I want to rub my cheek in his hand like I’m his pet and I hate that.
He whispers in his husky accent, “You are a rare beauty. An unpolished diamond and a woman who doesn’t realize the power she could wield and yet you ruin the image with a filthy mouth and complaints that have no place here.”
“Complaints?” My eyes widen. “Don’t you think I have every right to complain? You kidnapped me!”
My voice rises, and I hate the tears welling in my eyes as my façade crumbles.
His eyes glitter as he whispers, “You have not been kidnapped. You have been removed for your own safety because any man or woman who attempts to murder a high-profile public figure in front of the press has obviously got a death wish.”
