“For fuck’s sake,” he snarled. “Just stay still and listen.”
Something pressed against the back of her thigh
near her buttock. Hard. Smooth. The handle of her
knife. How had he moved so fast with a blade in his
thigh?
Balling her fist, she slammed it against the hilt,
shifting the angle and burying the blade deeper in his
flesh. She could swear she heard it scrape bone.
But still he held her, his fist twisting tighter in her
hair.
“Information,” he snarled, looping his arm around
her waist as she tried to tear free. He lifted her clear
off her feet and plastered her against him like shrinkwrap on meat, her ass pressed to his pubic bone. Then
he stepped to the side, hauling her along as he went. “I
want fucking information, not a brawl.”
He let go of her hair then, but not her waist, holding
her so her toes barely grazed the ground. Panting, she
hung there, trying to guess his next move. A click
sounded a millisecond before light flooded the space.
She blinked, focused. He’d turned on the overhead
chandelier, the one she’d had shipped from Italy.
Instinct screamed for her to claw and fight as he
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dropped her to her feet and jerked her around to
face him.
And for an endless, frozen second, they just stared at
each other. She read the glint of steel and snow in his
gaze.
She’d seen those eyes a thousand times in her
