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“What’s wrong?”
He sighs. It comes from deep in his chest, like he’s trying to expel whatever anguish has made it sound the way it does—low and harsh, a stuttering groan.
“Vivian is what’s wrong.” Instead of explaining, he snarls and flings the phone against the wall so violently that I yelp. The sound of my scream mixes with the shattering glass as it cracks against the drywall and explodes everywhere. “She wants her job back. Wants her life back. Is going to make sure I pay. Going to tell you nasty lies if I refuse. Blah, blah, fucking blah. I ought to wring her damn neck.”
Even for Beck, that’s a little on the violent Viking side. I sit up and curl my legs under my body so that we’re facing each other. When I take his hand, he threads our fingers together. The familiarity of his touch warms me.
“Beck, you cannot kill Vivian. For starters, you’re way too pretty for jail.”
He shakes his head. But there’s a hint of a smile now. “I’m not planning to kill her. I’m going to sue the ever-loving shit out of her.”
I let out a relieved sigh. Lawsuits are one thing. First-degree murder is another.
With that plan spoken into the universe, he seems a little calmer. Chuckling, he looks over my shoulder at the dent his phone left in the wall. “Probably shouldn’t have done that,” he remarks.
“It will be hard to call a lawyer with your phone cracked in a million tiny pieces.” I reach over to snag my phone off the nightstand. “You could use mine, but only if you promise not to throw it.”
He waves me off. “Later. I ought to clean up my mess first.”
He walks bare-assed—incidentally, one of my favorite looks on him—to the wall and starts tugging at the drywall until a huge chunk comes loose. I sit and watch as he keeps working until there’s a pile of it on the floor behind him and the bare studs show on either side of the ragged gap in the wall.
When he’s satisfied, he turns to face me and grins.
He’s so beautiful it hurts. The light coming through the tall windows picks out the motes of dust floating through the air. He’s covered in it from head to toe, but aside from that, he’s fullynaked. It’s… a lot, to say the least. I’m vibrating with lust and he hasn’t even laid a finger on me yet.
I should know better than to gaze. Lord knows I’ve risked it enough to understand that if I stare at him for a minute or longer, I fall into him and it’s awfully hard to climb back out. Some days, I don’t know why I bother trying.
Today might be one of those days where I don’t try at all.
“What?” he asks. There’s that infamous smile—well, one of them, at least. There are a thousand others—happy, scowling, amused, playful—and each has something the others don’t. A twinkle. A twitch. A sizzle.
I’ll take any of them that I can get.
I chew at my lower lip. “I think I just like looking at you.”
He smolders as he stalks back over, his body flexing and undulating in the morning glow. The drywall dust streaked across his hands and chest and face looks like warpaint. It feels like he’s my soldier coming home from battle to remind me how much I missed him.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to stay angry with you around?” he growls in my ear. Standing at the side of the bed, he kisses my shoulder, then my throat and my jaw.
“In my defense, it’s hard to take you seriously with your dick hanging out.”
The last remnants of the smile disappear from his face instantly. In its place is a dark, snarling beast. “You don’t take me seriously?” he asks dangerously.
My gut clenches up tight. My thighs feel weak and insubstantial. Deep in my heart of hearts, I know this is a game. It’s foreplay. But the adrenaline racing through my veins doesn’t know the difference between dirty talk and genuine threat.
I gulp and say what I know is my line. “What if I don’t?” I muse brattily. “What if I don’t take you seriously at all?”
He strokes his fingers around my throat. Not clamping, not choking—just reminding me that he could if he wants to.
And holy shit, it’s the hottest thing I’ve felt in a long time.
The air in the room is suddenly wicked hot. I’m sweating beneath his fingertips and practically mewling with need.
He lets a slow breath escape through his pursed lips. “Then I will put you over my knee and I will spank your ass until you understand how seriously I need to be taken.”
Gulp.
That’s hook, line, and sinker. I’m a full-on goner and he hasn’t even put his lips on mine. Can you come from words alone?
