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The guy keeps his eyes on his hood, where I’ve made a few dents with my fists. “I think you better watch it,” he says with an accent I can’t exactly place.
I lift my gun, but he peels away.
I try to read the license plate but don’t catch all the numbers.
“Are you okay?” Jillian’s hands on me bring me back to life.
Or the male form of blood, flesh, and bone, I become when I’m with her.
“I’m fine. You have to watch where you’re walking, sparkles.” Taking her arm, I steer her to her car, shoving my gun back inside my coat.
“Holy shit. What are you doing here? Are you stalking me?”
“Clearly.” I keep walking.
“And you followed me here?”
“You bet.”
“Why?” She pulls away.
“What part of you belong to me is not getting into your head?”
“Because you can’t own a person, Eoghan. I don’t know what other arcane laws you’re thinking of manipulating. You don’t…”
I crash my mouth down on hers and sweep her senses away with a kiss that fills my lungs with air for the first time in days. “I may not own you in the legal sense, but in the physical sense, this…” I stroke her mouth. “And this.” I grab her arse. “Is mine.”
Looking dizzy from my kiss, she utters, “You really followed me here?”
“Aye. And if I wasn’t here. You’d be flattened.”
She swallows, her throat working so fucking erotically. I’m a few brain cells away from pushing her into her car and shoving my cock down her throat and getting off on her mouth right now.
Like she wants!
“True. You’re really just protecting me, right? Because of the case? You think the Borgias might try to hurt me?”
“Every second of every day,” I say, but fuck, I never even considered that.
Only because that would be the stupidest fucking thing to do. You kill investigations, but if one slips past the goalie—no pun intended considering what Jillian is here for—and your fuck ups become a full-blown indictment with a prosecutor assigned, that counselor getting mowed down can be seen by the judge as a strike against the defendant.
The man in the car just threated me. That accent. Italian? Mediterranean? Slavic?
The Borgias are using Russian mercenaries.
“What are you doing now? Come back to my villa. I seriously need to fuck you,” I blurt and push my full-blown erection into her stomach. “You don’t want to feel all ten inches of me inside you?”
Flushed and lip bruised from the brutal kiss I laid on her because I’m losing control of myself, she says, “I have to be in court in an hour.”
“Tonight.”
She shakes her head. “Late night with the investigation team.”
“What fucking case is this?”
“Bank fraud. Small company. I have a meeting with Daniel tomorrow morning to go over your brief,” she whispers. “I’ll be at the villa as soon as I can after that.”
“Let me see your new manicure.” I reach down and hold her fingers. “I don’t like this color,” I sneer at the dark purple that draws out the veins in her hands.
