Page 29 of Ready For His Rule

She shrugged too—though the sentiment was only casual on the outside. Her gaze was now dark as thunder clouds. “You saying I still get a choice?”

He rocked his head. The statement, and its underlying anger, were legit. In the space of half an hour, her world had been blown apart on every fathomable level. It was a fair question, deserving an honest answer.

“No. You pretty much don’t.”

Even if that honesty was fucking shitty.

“And you ‘don’t have a choice’ either, I take it?” she finally snapped. “Because you’re ‘just following orders’, right? You’re just here to save my precious little life?”

Once more, frustration to which she was rightfully entitled—though delivered with such an edge of brat, he wondered yet again about the cat turd. Or if her adrenalin was starting to crash.

Or if she just craved the same thing he did.

Her. Over his knee. Counting out the swats until her ass was pink and her mind was mush…

But at this rate, he was going to beat her to the mush department.

Not. Acceptable.

So he took command back in the only way that made sense. Swiftly. Forcefully. Pushed back across the gap until he had her by the nape again. Locked her face just inches beneath his. The soft snort from the front seat was all the approval he needed from Shep on the action. The woman in his hold clearly didn’t agree. Her mouth popped open. Resistance stiffened her body. Franz didn’t relent his grip. He didn’t care if she was pissed anymore. She’d pulled the brat card. She was going to get brat treatment.

“I’m not here to ‘save your little life’, kitten.” Departing from the fantasies that’d birthed the nickname, he deliberately ground it out. “I’m here to keep the new president of my country alive. And oh yeah…her son too.”

In a rush, the fight drained from her body.

In a flood, guilt crashed through Franzen.

Yeah, he’d gone there too. Played the Luke card. Aside from tying her down and making her listen—not an option right now despite how certain parts of his anatomy screamed for it—this was his best and last resort. Something had to get through her gorgeous but thick skull. To get her past the shock of everything that had just happened, and cycling through the processing stages as fast as possible. Mentally healthy? Fuck no. Completely necessary? That would be a hell-fucking-yes—for which he’d logged the years of real-life experience as justification.

He just always forgot how much he hated this part.

Especially when the danger was so goddamn real.

That the bad, bad fuckers who rigged that explosion at the villa were still out there somewhere. No. Out here somewhere—ready to slap that huge target on her back before blinking again. Their reasons? Not important to him. Not yet.

Their intention, deadly and powerful and still in play, did.

So he hit the Tigress where it hurt the worst.

Didn’t mean he had to like it. Didn’t mean, with her sharp huffs hitting his lips, he didn’t dream about her actually begging him for pain. Didn’t mean he breathed in her soft scent and didn’t imagine its difference with the arousal from her pussy blended in. Didn’t mean he locked gazes with her, and avoided thinking how magical those gray depths would be, wrapped in a subspace fog.

It only meant one thing. That he made her get to one end result.

Her resigned rush of surrender. Before she finally muttered, “Fine, dammit. You win. Take me away to Neverland, Captain Hook.”

For a long second, disguising it beneath the mode of double-checking her sincerity, he kept watching her. In truth, he just enjoyed watching her fume. Probably too damn much. But as she’d just said, he was the captain now.

Finally, “the captain” countered in a drawl, “Neverland?”

Shep cut in with a snort. “I liked the Captain Hook part better.”

Franz shrugged without turning his head. “Fine. That just makes you Smee.”

“Wait. Huh?”

The woman beneath him burst with a small laugh. Franz watched her, captivated. For one moment, as if fate really had dumped pixie dust on them, Tracy Rhodes became simply the same woman with whom he’d first clasped hands, locked gazes, and shared enough electricity to light all Sin City just an hour ago. The same perfect connection clicked. Once more she lifted that adorable little grin, as if to call complete bullshit on his he-man swagger.

Feisty little Wendy. Perfect little challenge. Beautiful little brat.

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