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“What's your name?” I demand, needing to know what to call my mate. I can't keep referring to her as “mate.” That, and I'm genuinely interested in knowing what my mate’s name is. I want to know everything about her.
Instead of answering me, she soundly slaps me across the cheek.
I grin as I feel the sting.
Oh yes, she will make a fine tiger queen.
ChapterTwo
Mya
I expect the big,hulking man to be pissed that I've just slapped him. I've never struck anyone in my entire life, and if I had any good sense, I would be trembling with fear after having the audacity to hit this man who is more than twice my size. Seriously, he would put the Hulk to shame with his bulging muscles and tall stature.
Only he's not a big green giant. He's more like a beautiful, sandy-haired Herculean god. His hair is a beautiful golden brown that flows down to his shoulders. Swear to god, he looks like one of those men from the cover of Highlander romance novels.
It looks like it's all his shirt can do to contain the bulk of his muscles, and his thighs are like cannons. He has a square jaw line with stubble already lining it this early in the day, like he has so much testosterone it immediately sprouts soon as he shaves.
The man is every woman's dream, but that doesn't give him the right to fling me over his shoulder like I'm nothing more than a sack of potatoes and stomp off with me as if he has any right. Just because he's handsome doesn't mean he can't be a psycho or a serial killer.
Instead of looking angry, though, the man's eyes flare with heat, and a grin pulls at the corners of his mouth. Okay, so maybe he's not a serial killer, but he's definitely still a psycho. He has to be insane toenjoythe slap I delivered him. My palm is still stinging from it.
And that pisses me off because I suspect that the slap literally hurt me more than it hurt him. “What's your name, hellcat?” He’s looking down at me with his handsome face, and I feel a growl tearing up my throat at the nickname.
“Shouldn't you ask someone that before you kidnap them?” I hiss at him.
He just smiles at me now. It’s a breathtakingly handsome smile of full, white, even teeth. “I'm Raoul Cunnings,” he offers his own name, no doubt hoping to coax mine from me by this gesture.
I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him icily as the elevator continues to take us up, up, up. Jesus, how far up are we going?
“Well, look, mister—" I begin, but the hulking man in front of me interrupts me.
“Raoul,” he corrects me.
“Raoul.” I grit my teeth as I say his name. “I'm really sorry I bumped into you, but don't you think this is a little over the top?” I laugh nervously. “Are you going to kill me for just trying to get to work on time?” I glanced down at the watch on my wrist, my stomach dropping when I see that I’m later than ever know. “Shit, my boss is going to kill me,” I groan.
“No, he won't,” Raoul tells me reassuringly.
I raised my brows at him and scoff. “So, you’re not only a kidnapper, you’re a stalker too? Do you happen to know who my boss is?”
He gives a nonchalant shrug. “No, but it doesn't matter because you don't work there anymore.”
I gawk at him. “What?”
“If you want to work, you can work for me now, but you don't have to work if you don't want to.”
I stare at the man like he’s just sprouted two heads. Okay, this guy is certifiably insane. What is he even talking about?
He suddenly yanks my purse from my shoulder and starts digging through it. “Hey!” I protest, mortified. “You can't just go through a woman's purse!”
He doesn't answer me. Instead, he finally finds what he's looking for and pulls out my wallet. He flips it open, and when his eyes flick back up to me, there's triumph in them. “How else was I going to find out your name, stubborn little Mya?”
That's all he wanted? To find out my name? Not to rob me or something? But that thought is ridiculous anyway. Why would this man want to rob me? I’m scraping by to make ends meet, and his clothing looks expensive. Everything about the man screams rich and powerful.
This whole interaction with this man has been bizarre, and I internally curse myself for ever having the misfortune to bump into him. The elevator finally dings and then opens. Raoul takes my hand and pulls me out onto what looks to be the top floor of the tallest high rise in the city.
I gasp at the view that's presented to me through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It looks like we're at the very top of the city.
Who the hell is this guy that he has a view like this? I glance around and notice that we're in what looks to be an opulent office. There's a desk set up, but then the rest of the space looks like a luxurious penthouse suite. There's a couch and television and fireplace and all the modern luxuries you would find in any an expensive city apartment. Still, this doesn't make any sense.
