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He sat beside me, his arm moving over the back of the couch, while his other hand reached for the string of my bottoms at my hip. It all happened so fast, without a kiss or a touch, straight down to business.
“Whoa, buddy.” I pushed his thick arm away before he could pull my panties free.
This man had never been told no, clearly, because his expression turned volcanic.
“I want to talk—and that’s what we’re going to do.”
His coffee-colored eyes shifted back and forth between mine, his mind processing all the details that his hard dick had previously ignored. When the hardness of his jaw set in and the spite in his eyes settled, I knew he realized exactly who I was.
He left the couch and headed straight for his desk. His hand reached in and withdrew a pistol that was tucked underneath. He cocked it and aimed it right at my face, slowly drawing near, keeping the barrel trained between my eyes. “You seem to have a death wish.”
“And you seem to have a poor memory.”
He dropped the aim to my heart and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened. The chamber was empty.
“Wow. You really are an asshole.”
He opened the chamber and saw with his own eyes that it really was empty. Furious, he walked back to his desk to retrieve the bullets from his top drawer.
“Don’t bother. Got those too.”
He slammed the drawer shut. “Then I’ll just kill you with my bare hands.” The moment he looked up, he steadied—because a shotgun was aimed right at his chest.
I smiled, holding the butt of the gun against my shoulder as my mother had taught me. Her father had been a hunter, so I grew up around all kinds of guns. Which was definitely coming in handy right now.
The anger on his face was still present, but his eyes were eerily calm. He hadn’t thought twice about trying to shoot me, so he’d gambled away any mercy he would have received otherwise. He didn’t raise his hands in surrender, just stood there as the long barrel pressed against his bare flesh. His breaths weren’t even deep. I’d be able to feel them if they were.
“Sit.”
The intensity of his eyes deepened, his stare locked on my face.
“Don’t test me. I don’t have a lot of patience for a man who wouldn’t hesitate to murder me.” I shoved the barrel into his chest to get him moving.
He took his time walking to the couch, his muscled back rippling with strength. He must have a gym somewhere on board and didn’t let his little friends distract him from hitting the weights.
He relaxed against the back of the couch, hands resting comfortably on his thighs, his eyes defiant.
I took the seat beside him, the gun still trained on his chest.
A long stretch of silence ensued, his eyes glued to mine, watching me with a mix of pure loathing and displeasure, along with a splash of respect. A shotgun was aimed right at his chest, but he breathed normally, not the least bit unnerved by the situation.
“I’ve been living on your yacht for the past week. Found all the guns and tossed the ammo overboard. Except this one, of course.”
He continued to stare, hardly blinking. “You wanted my attention, and now you have it. Let’s get this over with.” He sat forward slightly, his arms moving to his knees.
I tightened my grip on the gun, unsure if it was a ploy to steal the weapon.
He smirked, aware that he’d spooked me. “I could take that gun at any time.”
“Then why don’t you?”
The stare lasted an eternity, sandpaper against my skin, intrusive as it penetrated well past the surface. “Because you’re the first to best me—so you’ve earned a few moments of my time.”
My grip didn’t loosen on the gun, but the stitch in my chest released.
“Tell me what you want. My patience is limited.”
I finally had the undivided attention of the only man who could save my ass. I didn’t say anything for a moment, treasuring the victory after so many weeks of climbing over walls and dealing with a bitchy butler on a power trip.
“I was told that we have a common enemy. Thought we could work together to take him down.”
His eyebrows furrowed at first, his handsome face even more focused than before. Then the smirk came, subtle and hardly noticeable. “You think breaking in to my yacht and finding my guns makes you an assassin?”
“You even admitted I bested you.”
“Because you’re half naked,” he said coldly. “Bravo.”
I glared at him. “I could blow out your brains right now, so I deserve more credit than that—”
He snatched the gun out of my hand so fast I couldn’t keep a hold of it. Then he disassembled it in less than five seconds, taking it apart piece by piece, breaking it down until it was in three separate parts on the coffee table. His arms returned to his knees, and he stared at me, his eyes ice-cold. “Whoever your enemy is, I’m not interested. Are we done?”
