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“Oh, am I?” His smile turned cold. “I’d say you’re the lucky one. You’ve had a nice run these past five years.”
“No thanks to you. So if you can’t reply in anything but riddles, I think this conversation is through.” Rather than try the door-slamming trick again, she darted forward, making it past him into the hall, only to trip on the hem of her dress.
He snagged her arm, turning her smoothly and pressing her back into the wall beside the door. He was still smiling as he lowered his head to speak near her ear, though his hold on her arm was bruising.
“You used to be faster. Or maybe you just like to be chased. To be caught. I remember that you enjoyed all manner of games.” He brushed his nose against her hair and the back of his thumb grazed the side of her breast. She struggled and he pressed her into the wall, his fingers sliding up her body to tighten around her neck.
Icy sweat slicked over her back. She couldn’t show him her fear. He got off on that far too much. “I remember that you taught me most of them.”
“I did.” His mouth curved, sickeningly. “You forgot to take the knot out of the pillowcase on the floor, by the way.”
She shut her eyes. The idea that he knew—had even the slightest inkling—of what she and Ryan did in bed made her skin crawl. The worst part? He probably assumed he’d been the one to create the desire for bondage and kinky play in her. Not that she’d had it all along, buried deep. That somehow he had unlocked the treasure chest to what pleased her sexually, rather than just being the first man she’d tried those things with.
“You’re going to want to let me go,” she said, opening her eyes. Making sure they stayed focused on his, no matter how much that same frightened part of her that had guided her actions for years shrieked at her to retreat. “Right now, we may look like we’re lovers because I’m not shoving you back—yet—and you’re pretending to kiss my hair while you try to make me feel ashamed. Newsflash. I’m not.”
“You were never embarrassed about how you found pleasure. That’s one of the things that made you so refreshing.” He twirled a lock of her hair. “We look like lovers because we were. So much closer than that, weren’t we? We were going to be married. We were going to rule the world together. Me as your king, you as my queen.”
She snorted. She couldn’t help it. Naive or not, she couldn’t believe she’d ever fallen for all that bullshit. Somehow he’d convinced her back then that most of his so-called enterprises were legal. That, yes, as time progressed he held more power over others, but that he was generous and benevolent. She’d seen evidence of his men’s trust and loyalty, and she’d been just young enough to believe that he’d earned it through methods other than brutality and intimidation.
But she’d learned. Oh, had she learned.
“Yeah, right, all while avoiding the cops. So sexy.” She tried to push him back, to gain some space to think, but he gripped her chin and forced her gaze back to his.
“Prison orange isn’t my color. Neither is this green yours. Tell me, Casey, what do you have on beneath?
” He rubbed his thumb over her lips, and she pressed them together to bar him entry. “You used to favor skimpy lace. Is that still so?”
“You’re never going to find out, so let’s end this charade here and get to what you want.”
Slowly, threateningly, he licked his lips. “You.”
“Not a chance in twenty lifetimes.” She shoved him back with both hands, forgetting for a moment that she wasn’t supposed to be making a scene. She was supposed to be biding her time, figuring out a plan, not responding from anger so he knee-jerk reacted and summoned his goons.
But he didn’t take out his phone. Didn’t do anything but lean against the opposite wall, watching her with that predatory gleam in his gaze that had once seemed so exciting. Back then, she’d loved that he had made her the center of his world when he was so respected. Among his peers, he’d commanded so much even then, and he’d only been rising through the ranks. She couldn’t imagine all that he had in his purview now.
The hallway was eerily silent. She kept expecting someone to walk through. Anyone. A bellhop, a guest. Maybe even someone headed to the awards show.
Oh God, the awards. She was missing Ryan’s big night.
She slid her gaze sideways. If she could just get back into the room and slam the door—
“Don’t try it. You forget that you might be able to elude me. Donovan’s associates have been successful on keeping you away from me thus far. His reach is impressive. But your Ryan is a different story.” Marco cocked his head. “His bright red tie was so jaunty. Did you help him with the knot as you always did with mine?”
A dry sob left her. There weren’t tears. She couldn’t cry. It was rage and frustration and pain, all balled up into one.
She’d brought this to their door. He’d watched them, could be watching Ryan even now. That was his implication.
Run, and you may escape. But Ryan doesn’t even know the threat he’s facing. Because of you. Because you refused to trust him with all of your past, not just pieces.
“He has nothing to do with this. With us.” The words tasted sour on her tongue, but she would say anything if it took the glare off Ryan. “He’s just a guy I’m banging. You said it yourself. I’m a kinky little bitch.”
“I didn’t use exactly those words.” He rubbed his thumb against the side of his mouth. “I’m not a fool, Casey.”
His quiet steel nearly made her sag against the wall. What did she really think she could do? Convince him that she still wanted him, so hey, leave poor, insignificant Ryan alone? She’d already said exactly the opposite. Marco was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. He might pretend to believe her lies now, but that wouldn’t stop him from hurting Ryan. His fame would make it harder for Marco to do something drastic, but there were other ways to harm Ryan. Marco always found other ways.
“What do you want from me?” she asked softly. “Let’s say I go with you. Then what?”
“You’ll have everything you ever wanted. Money, power, respect. The finest clothes. Not like that dress.” He shook his head in derision. “You’re a vision, but that dress doesn’t do you justice. And you certainly won’t be driving a bus for pennies for a bunch of juvenile guitar slingers.”
