‘It doesn’t prove anything…’ I managed, but I could hear my own defensiveness. And knew he could hear it too, when a smug smile lifted his lips and embarrassment joined the sting of beard burn on my cheeks. ‘Just because you can make me respond to you does not mean I belong to you.’
‘Does it not?’ he said, the self-satisfaction in his tone even more galling than the melting sensation in my panties.
Who was I kidding? He’d devoured me, and I’d encouraged him. Even now I could feel the outline of his erection prodding me. And instead of disgusting me, it was making me hot.
Really, Mia? How can you still want him when he’s just kidnapped you?
I struggled against his hold, desperate to get off his lap now before I lost the last of my dignity. And self-respect. Or he took even more advantage of my inability to resist him.
‘Sit still,’ he said, his voice strained, as he wrapped his arms around me, holding me in place. ‘Or I may be forced to prove my point in front of my men.’
Apparently he was as close to the edge as I was, which could have been some consolation but wasn’t. Because if he chose to take me in the car, I wasn’t entirely sure I had the willpower to stop him.
The car accelerated onto the motorway, and his arms tightened on my aching body.
‘Dormi, bella,’ he murmured against my hair as he placed his hand onto my head and pressed my cheek to his shirt. ‘We will continue this discussion when you are safe.’
I didn’t know whatdormimeant, but I could guess, the exhaustion settling around me like a cloud.
But I gathered the last of my energy and dragged my head free of his hold to send him the hardest stare I could muster.
‘I’m not sleeping on your lap.’ I couldn’t fight him physically. He was much stronger than I was. And apparently, I couldn’t even resist his kisses. But I refused to let him treat me like a lover. I was here against my will, whether I had responded to that damn kiss or not, and he needed to be reminded of that.
Something akin to astonishment flickered in his eyes.
Again with the surprise…Was he really that used to people, especially women, just obeying his every command without question?
He frowned, not pleased with my resistance.
But it was my turn to be surprised when he lifted me off his lap. It was impossible to sit properly on the leather seat with my ankles still bound. I had to do something about that if I was going to have any chance of escaping him.
With that in mind, I said as nonchalantly as I could, ‘Can you free my legs? The tie is starting to cut into my ankles, and I can’t get comfortable.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I will cut you loose if I have your word you will not run from me again, Mia.’
Yeah, right.
My temper spiked. But I bit down on the contemptuous comeback. Talking back to him before had only earned me that devastating kiss.
‘You have my word, Vito,’ I said with all the conviction I could muster while lying through my teeth. What right did he have to demand my obedience? Apart from the gun holstered under his arm.
He wasn’t going to shoot me, though. I knew that much. Because I was carrying his child.
But did he really feel some kind of connection to the baby, or was his reaction to my pregnancy just a part of his conviction that both of us now belonged to him?
How could it be more than that when he didn’t care about my feelings, and when he’d had no qualms about stealing us from our home?
I would have been safer in London, living anonymously, than I could ever be with him. I’d watched him get shot less than six months ago. I’d even been shot at myself that night.
The memories I’d worked so hard to suppress resurfaced as he leant across me to lift my feet into his lap and slice through the zip tie with his knife. He stroked my ankles, soothing the sore skin. I jerked my feet free, not appreciating the tingling sensations sprinting up my legs from his touch. He raised an eyebrow at my defiance—but when he shrugged, his features tightened. He rolled his shoulder as he straightened.
And the memories flooded back again. The acrid scent of gunsmoke, the metallic smell of blood.Hisblood.
‘Is your shoulder, okay?’ The question popped out before I could prevent it.
He glanced at me, apparently surprised by the question. I’d surprised myself by asking it. By even caring about the answer. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself from nodding towards the shoulder he’d rolled, the one he’d been shot in, as I put on my seat belt.
‘Your right shoulder. Is it fully healed?’ I added, feeling foolish now, especially when the wave of gratitude returned as I remembered how he had thrown himself across my body to shield me from harm.
