“I’m trying to fix that.” I twist more. Her face reddens, and her mouth opens and closes. “Go on. Get out of my hold.”
Her body jerks in my grasp, to no avail. I’ve got her arms trapped, her head and neck. Our chests are nearly touching. But she doesn’t raise her knee to get me in the balls. She just trembles like there’s an earthquake inside her.
I wait until her eyes roll back and her legs buckle. I release the scarf and catch her waist, guiding her to the floor. She comes back to life a second later, and her shock morphs into anger.
She slaps me. Her palm cracks against my cheek, but there isn’t enough force behind it to turn my head—or make me do anything but grin.
“Strip,” I repeat. “Or do you want to find out how else your coat and scarf are hazards?”
“Bastard.” She picks herself up and tears off her scarf then unbuttons the coat. She throws both to the side and glares at me. Without the scarf and jacket, she’s in a simple long-sleeve black sweater and jeans. “Was that necessary?”
“Apparently. Next time I say jump, do it instead of questioning me.”
Her scowl deepens.
“Take a breath. Relax.”
“Why?”
I tsk. She just can’t fucking help herself, can she? When I cock my head, she blows out a long, slow breath. It seems to physically pain her, though, and after a long moment, she shakes out her arms.
Slight progress.
But in reality, an attack will come as a surprise to her. She’s probably not going to see it coming. I circle around her. Her hairis still down, but I’m not quite ready to latch onto that weakness yet.
I want to see what will make her clam up–or worse, completely shut down.
When I’m behind her, she stiffens ever so slightly. Her shoulders rise. I pause in her blind spot, but she doesn’t turn around.
Okay. Fine.
I grab her in a bear hug, my grip strong but not too tight. I haul her back, lifting until she’s on her toes.
“Get out of my hold,” I say in her ear.
“This is awful,” she mutters, thrashing. “Jesus.”
“Nope, it’s just me.” I grin.
She smells good–probably the floral shit she uses in her hair, which is now stuck to the stubble on my jaw. Unfortunately, she’s really bad at attempting to defend herself. She kicks out, but she doesn’t make contact. Her elbow grazes my side and does literally no damage.
I think a kitten could hold her hostage, and she’d let it.
“You’re not trying.” I squeeze her. “You’re not going to hurt me.”
“I don’t like your methods.”
“I don’t like that I spent twenty thousand dollars making your ex-boy toy go away,” I growl. “And yet, we all make sacrifices. This is yours.”
She grunts. Her heel connects with my shin, and I loosen a fraction of an inch. She kicks again, sensing a weakness. Then, she stomps.
“Fucking finally.” I release her.
She stumbles away from me and whirls around. “What was that?”
“Use what you’ve got.” I come at her again, from the front. She sees me looming and backpedals. I catch her shoulders andshove her against the cage then pin her with my hips. My knee parts her thighs.
This position wakes up theotherside of my brain—the side more often reserved for the girls I use to distract myself. It’s not my fault Scarlett is pretty.
