The hard wall of his muscles presses against my front along with a very sizeable erection as he lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, pushing my already wet core on the bulge, grinding my hips to increase the sensations. His tusks create the softest rasp against my bottom lip, a sensation I'm learning to crave.
We're moving toward the bedroom, toward claiming another round of mind-bending pleasure, when a small tapping noise snaps the quiet.
Darhg puts me down without saying anything, then holds a finger to his mouth. I nod, feeling cold all the way to my bones, my chest constricted with fear. Darhg crosses the great room in three strides, then parts the curtain two inches. It’s not much, but it’s enough to expose a long lens glinting at the corner of the window and a shadow hunched against the siding.
Someone is watching. Someone was taking pictures of us through the window.
That someone is Gribble Nix.
"Stay inside," Darhg shouts at me before sprinting into action. Then he rushes out into the cold and I stand there, frozen in place. Our safe little cocoon of warmth is over.
There's nowhere left to run.
Chapter Eighteen
Darhg
Thebitterlycoldairhits my lungs like broken glass, but my rage burns hot in the winter night. That bottom-feeding gnome has trespassed on my property and violated our privacy. He's photographed Rona in our home, in the one place I promised she'd be safe.
Anger flares red-hot inside my veins, making my vision sharpen. Thousands of years of protective ogre instinctsflood my brain.
I have the advantage of my long legs, but gnomes are famous for their speed and Gribble's legs carry him quickly toward his van, parked behind a tall pine at the far end of my driveway. Just far enough that I didn’t hear it come up the drive from inside the house. I redouble my effort, pumping my legs as fast as I can through the knee-deep snow that crunches and sprays with each thundering step.
Gribble rounds the corner fast and trips in the drift, then he scrambles back up with the lens clutched to his chest like stolen treasure. Snow explodes around his stumbling feet as he flails toward his vehicle, when I reach for him and slip on a patch of ice underneath all that fresh snow. He glances over his shoulder, a grin on his face. He thinks he’s going to get away with this.
Not happening.
But the gnome is even faster than I expected. He reaches the van when I’m still over a dozen feet away. He yanks open the driver’s door with surprising agility, his pointed ears flushed red from cold and exertion. The engine roars to life just as my boots find purchase on the icy gravel of the drive.
"Hey!" I bellow, close enough now to see his panicked yellow eyes in the side mirror.
Gribble slams the van into reverse, tires spinning wildly on the snow-slicked surface before finding traction. I lunge forward, veering to the side and running toward my SUV. I jump behind the wheel a few seconds later,just as Gribble’s van lurches forward with the crunch of tires on snow.
I hit the fob and my SUV roars to life. I don’t hesitate. I have years of experience in dangerous driving situations. I performed many dangerous extractions before. A slimy reporter is not going to get the best of me. My SUV surges forward and I swerve just in front of Gribble’s van to block his path out of the narrow mouth of the driveway.
He hits the brake hard, and I see his terrified face when he looks at me through the windshield. His yellow gaze is wide and panicked as he glances around.
But he has no escape route. This cabin is remote enough that if he wants to get away from me, he’s going to have to make a run for it. But we both know he has no chance of escaping me.
Not in my territory.
He still slams the van into reverse and floors the gas, but it’s just one of his many mistakes. He’s not used to driving in winter conditions, apparently. His tires spin uselessly in the packed snow. He doesn’t stop, even when I step out of my vehicle and stalk toward him.
As I approach, the only sound above the tires spinning is the shouted curses that he threads on, one after the other.
My hand closes on the handle of his driver’s door with deliberate force, and I jerk it open to a cascade of used coffee cups and take-out containers emanating from his cramped mobile office.
"Out," I say, my voice level and final. "Now."
Gribble protests on reflex, his voice thin and reedy in the frigid air, his breath visible in puffs of condensation in front of his face.
"You can't just do this. This is kidnapping. I’m a member of the press!"
I growl as I grab him by the shoulders and pull him out, then drop him on the ground. He scrambles to his feet, still cursing under his breath.
I stay silent, then extend a flat palm. "Phone. Camera."
He stalls, clutching the equipment to his chest like a shield. "You can't take this. It’s mine!"
