Violet was staring at him, her eyes vivid in her pale face. “Why do you want to talk to him?”
Elijah bared his teeth. “None of your fucking business. Now let’s go get these goddamn clothes.” He curled his fingers tighter into her arm, making a move toward the store again.
But she stood firm. “If he doesn’t agree, are you going to kill me?”
For some reason, the starkness of the question felt like a small electric shock, jolting him. He’d killed before, many times in the course of seven years, and he’d gotten to the point where it no longer concerned him. Everything he did had been for Marie, for the greater good of taking down Fitzgerald, and if that meant killing a few people who deserved it, then he was okay with that.
But he never killed women—that was his line in the sand. And the thought of killing Violet …
That fucking needle slid all the way through him. Yet he couldn’t betray any softness, give away any sign that the thought bothered him, because he needed her compliant. And fear was the best way to get compliance.
So he said nothing, jerking her with more force toward the store.
She must have realized she wasn’t going to get anything from him, because she didn’t say another word, going with him as they stepped back inside. And when he went over to the rack she’d been looking at earlier, she went without protest.
She seemed more focused this time around, grabbing some black pants off the rack almost straightaway, then a green top from somewhere else and a black leather jacket from yet another rack as she moved deeper into the store.
Then she stopped and looked around, searching for something. He was about to ask what it was, when she abruptly headed to a corner down the back where there was a small rack of what looked like women’s underwear, except they weren’t pretty and lacy, more black and slick, with lots of straps and buckles.
Of course. He’d thrown out her underwear along with the rest of her bloodstained clothes.
And almost as soon as the thought had occurred to him, he found his gaze following down the length of her body as she leafed through the bras. Fucking hell. She was naked under that shirt of his. No bra. No panties. And if he was to reach out and run his hand up the back of her thigh right now, there would be nothing in his way …
That predatory thing inside him growled, starving suddenly. For soft, smooth skin and heat, for rounded curves that gave under his hand, for the warm pressure of a body on his, and for husky, needy cries in response to his touch.
Violet reached for a bra that seemed to be an arrangement of black straps more than anything else and a pair of matching black panties, and although she was swamped by that coat, he found himself staring at her as if he could see right through the wool to her naked body beneath.
Because of course he remembered what she looked like, even though at the time he’d made himself ignore her nudity as he’d stripped the wet bloodstained clothes from her shivering body, wrapping her up in a towel.
Yet he wasn’t thinking of that, but of her in his lap, arching into his hand …
Fuck. He was getting hard. Definitely time to get out of here.
Digging his fingers into her arm, he tugged her away. “Time to go, princess.”
Again she resisted. “Let me try these on.”
“You can back at the apartment.”
“Yeah, and I’ll freeze to death before I get back there.” That steely determination was back in her eyes again. “It’ll only take me a couple of minutes, I promise. I’ll put the clothes on, then we can leave.”
He shouldn’t care, he really shouldn’t.
Outside the wind had picked up and, judging by the temperature, there was probably going to be another late-winter fall of snow.
She’s cold. One minute won’t make much difference.
Elijah cursed under his breath. “One minute.”
She blinked a little and her mouth opened, as if she hadn’t been expecting him to capitulate and wanted to say something. Then, clearly thinking better of it, she shut it again and turned away, heading toward the fitting rooms without another word.
If he hadn’t been watching her carefully, he might have missed the spark of what looked like triumph in her gaze.
Clever little bitch. Well, whatever it was she was planning—and she was obviously planning something—she wasn’t going to get far, not if he could help it.
He followed her to the fitting rooms down the back of the store and when she went into one, he stepped inside it with her.
She whirled around, holding the clothes she’d taken against her chest. “What the hell are you doing? Ever heard of privacy?”
“After what happened the last time I left you alone? I don’t think so.” He closed the door firmly behind them then leaned back against it, folding his arms. “Now put those clothes on.”
“Are you kidding?” Temper glowed in her eyes. “Not with you standing there.”
“Too bad. You’ve got one minute to change and if not, then I guess getting warm isn’t so very important to you after all.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Prick. The fucking prick. Then again, did she really expect anything different? She could even understand his reasons, considering the last time he’d left her on her own, she’d ended up in a tub full of bloody bathwater.
Still, she didn’t want him staring at her while she got changed. Unfortunately it seemed as if he had other ideas.
This could be good, though. Remember what you wanted to do?
Violet narrowed her eyes at him. She probably could have gotten away while walking down the street to get here. All it would have taken would have been a quick jerk to pull out of his grip, or maybe a scream to draw attention. He would have to let her go if he didn’t want people looking at him or calling the cops. But then she’d have him on her tail like the freaking Terminator, and she had no doubt at all he’d be ruthless in getting her back. Not to mention that other people might get hurt were he do to so.
So she had to find another way. A way to make him want to let her go. If she could get him to lower his guard, see her as a person, a woman espeically, that might generate some sympathy in him for her. Get him to empathize with her.
A pretty tall order for a man who seemed entirely carved out of black ice.
Then again, he’d touched her. Had run his fingers over her with gentleness. He’d even taken care of her too, all of which made her believe that there was an actual human being underneath all that ice.
She just had to find him, release him. Psychology 101.
“Fine,” she said crisply as she shoved the hangers full of clothing at him. “Hold these.”
It was only an instinctive reaction that had him grabbing the hangers before they fell to the ground, she was sure. But grab them he did and because she was watching, she didn’t miss the flicker of surprise on his face.
Excellent. Surprise was good. Surprise meant he was off guard.
She stepped back, bending to take off her boots. Then, barefoot, she straightened, her hands falling to the scarf she had wrapped around her waist. It didn’t take much to undo it, a small tug, her gaze holding his.
Another flicker of reaction moved through those black eyes, though what it was, she couldn’t tell.
The scarf dropped to the floor and she let it, her fingers moving to the buttons on the coat, undoing them one by one. Then she shrugged out of it, letting that drop to the floor as well so she stood in front of him wearing the long-sleeved T-shirt he’d given her and nothing else.
The store’s music blared, that hard, driving beat making her feel like she was part of some kind of strip show. Which oddly enough helped, because that’s exactly what this was.
If he was so determined to stay here and watch, then she was going to make sure he got his money’s worth. Anything to get under that icy exterior of his.
She reached for the hem of the shirt, her fingers curling underneath it, her heart starting to beat faster and faster. If she took this of
f, she’d be naked. Right in front of him.
He’s seen it before.
Yeah, he had, when he’d taken her from the bath and stripped all her clothes off. But somehow that was different. She’d been in pain and shock, and he’d been very matter-of-fact. He hadn’t lingered and most importantly, he hadn’t stared at her the way he was now. Because that stare made it different. Made her nervous. And yet … it made her excited too.
Jesus. She was getting off on this, no doubt about it, which either made her sick or desperate, or possibly both.
Stop procrastinating and do it.
Violet gripped the hem of the T-shirt and jerked it up and over her head before she could think more. Then she flung that down on the floor too, lifting her chin and meeting his gaze.
A wave of goose bumps washed over her and it had nothing to do with the chill.
Because there was something in his eyes, the same thing that had been there when he’d held her in his arms and touched her. A dark, relentless kind of hunger that seemed to be fixed on her and her alone.
His gaze raked down her body in a slow, deliberate way before rising back to her face again, and she couldn’t seem to look away. There was the faintest wash of color on his high cheekbones, his beautiful, scarred mouth hard. His jaw had gone tight, his whole posture still and vibrating with tension.
His eyes glittered, black and hot as tar as they stared into hers.
Oh yeah, he wanted her alright, she could see it plain as day.
The goose bumps washing over her became prickles of heat, the nervousness sitting in her gut shifting, changing. And for the first time since he’d taken her, Violet felt the balance of power tilt in her favor.
She almost smiled. Who knew getting naked could actually make her feel like she was in charge of things?
Holding his gaze, she took a couple of steps toward him, coming closer. Watching as the expression on his face became more intense, the flame in his eyes burning hotter. His knuckles were white on the hangers of clothes, the plastic creaking under the pressure of his grip as she approached.
Even better. This was working far more effectively than she’d thought. Shit, if she’d known he’d react like this, she needn’t have carved that hole in her arm at all. She should have just taken her clothes off first up.
She stopped in front of him, only inches away, her pulse loud in her head, triumph and exhilaration threading through her. “You can hand me those panties if you like,” she murmured. “Because as you can see, I don’t have any.”
He didn’t look down, kept that intense black stare on hers. “What did I say about playing me, princess?” There was a rough edge in his voice, a dark heat that made something inside her shiver.
“I’m not playing you,” she said calmly. “Obviously if I’m going to put on those clothes, I have to take off the ones I’m wearing. And since you refused to leave…” She let that hang there, raising a brow at him. “I didn’t think you’d have such a problem with me being naked.”
Abruptly the plastic hangers and clothes fell to the floor and warm, astonishingly strong fingers wrapped themselves around her throat.
Her heart just about stopped beating.
And then she was being turned, swung around so it was she who was standing with her back pressed to the fitting room door, Elijah standing in front of her with one hot palm resting on her throat, the other flat on the door beside her head.
Her pulse rate rocketed, panic flaring inside her. And yet along with it, an intense awareness of his hand on her skin. Of her own nakedness. Of the cool wooden door at her back.
Of the darkness of his eyes as they stared down at her. Of the heat in them …
A heat totally at odds with the ice in his voice as he said, “You’re manipulating me, Violet. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
A tremor shook her that had nothing to do with the fact that he saw right through her, that he knew exactly what she’d intended, and everything to do with the feel of his hand on her, a heat that burned right through her skin, down through muscle and bone, leaving an imprint on the very fabric of her being. A scar she’d never get rid of.
She stared up at him, searching his face, forgetting utterly what she was supposed to be doing, yet not really knowing what she was looking for. Only that what she wanted to see wasn’t there.
You wanted him to drop his guard, remember?
Struggling to breathe—and not because his grip was cutting off her airway, but because his touch had somehow emptied her lungs of oxygen—she tried to focus on his rough, scarred features. Tried to see past the blank walls behind his eyes.
Hunger glittered there, a raw, unguarded desperation that had nothing to do with the chill in his voice or the hard expression on his face. A hunger that for some reason he was keeping leashed tight. Because why wouldn’t he take her if he wanted her? He could, she would be powerless to stop him.
Rape is for cowards and animals.
“You want me.” The words came out of her in a husky whisper. “Don’t think I don’t see it.”
The hunger in his eyes flared. “Pushing me is a bad fucking idea.”
“Why?” The hand on her throat was so hot. God, he was so hot. His body was like a goddamn furnace she wanted to warm herself against, because she was cold. So very, very cold. “You keep saying that, but really, I don’t know why you keep warning me. You can’t kill me and you don’t seem to want to hurt me. So why shouldn’t I push you? You’ve taken me hostage, shot at me, kept me prisoner in that stupid apartment of yours. Don’t you think I deserve a little payback?”
His gaze had dropped to her mouth, the hand around her throat lying heavy on her skin. His thumb was pressing over one collarbone and there was a slight movement to it, almost as if he was caressing her.
Violet’s mouth dried, the touch igniting something inside her. The realization of how hungry she was herself, how she was starving for something though she didn’t know what.
Yes, you do. You’re starving for him.
No, she couldn’t afford that. If she let that hunger rule her, there was no telling when she’d be able to stop. It seemed inconceivable anyway. This man was holding her captive in order to give her to some crime boss, for God’s sake. Why on earth would she want him?
And yet the way he’d touched her yesterday. There had been gentleness in him, and heat, and desperation too. Everything she’d been craving for herself …
Dangerous. You’re not supposed to go down this path.
“No,” he said in a cold, flat voice. “I don’t think you deserve anything at all.”
His thumb pressed gently against the ridge of her collarbone, almost yet not quite moving. His body was so close to hers, the heat of him warming her bare skin. Her nipples had gone tight and hard, and she could feel his breath against her neck.
Another shiver wracked her.
“I wouldn’t mind, you know.” The words came out hoarse and she hadn’t meant to say them, more spilling out before she could help herself. “If you wanted to have me, I … I wouldn’t mind.”
Elijah’s big body was motionless and she thought she saw shock in his gaze. Then his expression closed down. His hand dropped away from her throat and he took a step back, the look on his face impenetrable, the dark flames in his eyes vanishing.
“Get dressed,” he said curtly.
Then he pushed her gently to the side, pulled open the fitting room door, and walked out.
* * *
Elijah waited by the store counter, his hands in the pockets of his leather bike jacket. One hand curling around his gun because shit, he had to hold onto something that reminded him of his goddamn purpose. Especially when he was also trying to quell the intense hard-on in his jeans.
He couldn’t get the sight of Violet out of his head. The way she’d pulled off his shirt and dropped it on the ground, then stared at him, her eyes full of challenge as she’d stood there completely naked.
Of course he’d kno
wn what he was in for when he’d joined her in the fitting room. And he’d known she wouldn’t be happy about it. But he hadn’t wanted to leave her there by herself because who knew what she’d manage to get up to if he couldn’t keep an eye on her? He couldn’t afford any surprises like the one she’d sprung on him in the bathtub the day before. Especially not in public.
He’d thought he could handle her. He’d thought he had himself under control enough that her taking off her clothes wouldn’t affect him in the slightest.
But he’d been wrong.
She’d walked toward him, her body smooth and golden and lushly curved, and he’d felt the weight of every single day of the past seven years of abstinence pressing down on him. Crushing him. Those small, high breasts he’d touched, stroked. The graceful indent of her waist and the swell of her hips. The soft thatch of golden curls between her thighs.
He’d gotten hard, so hard, almost instantly. And she’d been all determination, showing him she wasn’t afraid, getting right up close. He’d seen the triumph in those beautiful turquoise eyes of hers, had known he hadn’t hidden his desire from her as well as he’d thought.
So he’d had to assert himself somehow, show her he was still in control.
That didn’t work out so well, did it?
He could feel the heat of her skin against his palm even now. Smell the scent of her body, musk and sandalwood. He’d frightened her, and yet it hadn’t only been fear in her eyes; there had been heat there too.
All he’d been able to think about then was the way she’d been in his lap the day before, the way she’d arched into his hand, wanting more. A little cat wanting to be stroked.
Fuck, he’d wanted her. And that had made him so goddamn angry, because he knew that she was also playing him. That she was using the strange chemistry between them to get to him, probably using sex to change his mind about giving her to Jericho.
You should have just taken her.
His fingers curled on the gun, the metal warming beneath his palm. The fucking sales assistant was still talking on the phone, oblivious.
Kidnapped by the Billionaire Page 10