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Straight into Rio Agosti’s coldly furious expression.
3
“All things truly wicked start from innocence.”
Ernest Hemingway
Rio
The terrorin her expression is the only thing that saves her from my wrath.
When she collapses against my chest, looking up at me in that way, as if I’m the monster under the bed who has come to kill her, my cock hardens instantly, and thoughts of killing her recede.
Her hands scrabble ineffectually at my silk shirt, and a tiny moan escapes her lips.
Instead of reaching for my gun, holstered discreetly beneath my suit jacket, I grab her wrists. She is so delicately built that I can get the fingers of one hand around both of them.
I step forward, the action forcing her through the fire door into the corridor, and then I swivel to the side until her back is against the wall. I drop her wrists, pinning her in place by planting one arm on each side of her head.
“Going somewhere, Bianca?”
“I…” She licks her lips, her gaze dropping down toward the floor.
The thick white robe, like her shapeless clothing earlier, hides her body, though the dip at its neckline allows an enticing glimpse of lightly curving flesh beneath. I wonder what she’d do if I ripped the robe down off her shoulders and allowed it to pool at her waist.
My hands curl into fists beside her head as my need rises. Iwantto expose her, to teach her that it is not acceptable to defy me.
I lean in, so close our breaths mingle. Her scent rises around me, light and citrusy. “There is no escape, little bird. You will leave here when I say so, and not before.”
Her eyelids flutter, her gaze remaining mostly downcast, allowing a view of tiny blue veins across her lids, like a network beneath her porcelain skin.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, but there is a note in her voice that doesn’t quite ring true.
“Are you?”
Her eyes flash open then, staring straight into mine. I have to fight the urge to draw back from the shock of their amber depths so close.
Something flares in her expression that the predator in me recognizes but cannot name. I could kiss her, right now, and every instinct I possess says she would not push me away.
She fears me. And she wants me. And she hates both of those things.
“Iamsorry,” she says.
I study her, debating within myself whether or not she’s worth keeping around.
She is likely pretending docility to keep me on side, but I know the truth. She is still considering how to escape. And yet, that terror-filled gaze as she rushed through the fire door was not feigned.
Her fear feeds the desire within me in a way I haven’t experienced in a long time.
The monster under the bed has nothing on me.
I step back and gesture toward the suite she has just left. Wordlessly, she shifts off the wall and trudges back down the hallway.
As she reaches the door, she turns back to look at me. “Your men snatched me off the street and shot my friends. They bound me.Hitme. Did you really expect menotto try and run?”
“The man who hurt you will likely already be dead.” I hope the pronouncement gives her comfort.
Why I want to offer that to her is not something I wish to dwell on.
