Staring at her lush mouth, I ask, “What exactly are you offering?”
A blush deepens the color in her cheeks, but her gaze holds mine with surprising steadiness. “A kiss.”
I smile, because it’s a ridiculous offer. Absurd. How did she even come up with such an idea? Yet the smile fades from my lips, and a desperate need spreads through me. A kiss from this woman sounds like a little moment of heaven.
“Have you even been kissed, doe?” I murmur.
“Of course I have!” she counters hotly, which makes me believe if she has been kissed, it hasn’t been very well or very often.
Something possessive and tender stirs within me. I could show her what a real kiss feels like.
“You think I’m going to let you go in exchange for a kiss?”
She gazes at me through her lashes, her eyes growing darker, her plush lips suddenly more inviting. “I don’t know. Are you?”
Her challenging look shoots right down my body like lightning, igniting my desire for her. Her hands come up, not to struggle, but to clasp my wrists. Her fingers slide over my skin in a soft, deliberate caress. I fight to keep my face impassive and my breath steady. The sudden rush of pleasure is so foreign I barely recognize it.
When was the last time someone touched me gently? My mother, maybe, before they killed her. My sister, who probably died screaming for help. The only touches I can recall lately are punches and kicks.
A sharp ache blossoms inside me. There’s a word for this, isn’t there?
Touch-starved.
I take a ragged breath, and for the first time in weeks, I forget all about revenge.
“I have no reason to turn you in,” she whispers. “I’m not a rat, and I have no love for the Dervishis. I don’t care that you killed them. They can all rot. I want to go back to my boring life and my exhausting, minimum-wage job. You don’t want the cops coming after you for this. What’s going to grab more police attention and headlines, ‘Four Dervishis Dead’ or ‘Young Woman Murdered When Caught in Mafia Violence’?”
I’m barely listening. I’m lost in imagining my lips on hers and wondering what she tastes like. It’s been so long since I’ve wanted anything but vengeance, and felt anything but the gnawing emptiness of grief.
“One kiss to show you how grateful I am for sparing me,” she implores. “Then we’ll both walk out of here. We’ll never hear from each other or speak to each other again.Please.”
She sounds so sweet when she’s begging, and even sweeter, she’s offering to make me feel something other than loss.
I put the knife to one side.
“You drive a hard bargain, doe.” I lower my face slowly, deliberately, not moving to kiss her until I feel her breath hitch. “But we have a deal.”
My lips brush over hers, a featherlight touch that’s more promise than kiss. Her eyes widen with surprise, then flutter closed as a wave of heat blooms through me. The softness of her mouth hits me like a drug.
We’re not captor and captive anymore. She’s the woman I want.
I slant my mouth over hers in a proper, claiming kiss, and her moan is soft and yielding. As my tongue slides past her lips, I wrap my arms around her, pulling her flush against me. Every curve of her body molds perfectly against mine. She arches into me with willing surrender, her hands fisting in my shirt.
Her teeth nip my lower lip, a small act of defiance that sends lightning straight down my spine.
Fuck.
My heart pounds so hard I’m sure she can feel it.
I tighten my grip on her, one hand sliding into her hair, angling her head so I can deepen the kiss. She opens for me, her tongue meeting mine stroke for stroke in a rhythm that makes me think of other ways our bodies could move together. Her taste is addictive. I can’t get enough.
When we finally come up for air, we’re both gasping, our breaths mingling in the close space. Her lips are swollen, wet from my mouth.
The sight makes me kiss her again.
Harder. Longer. Until neither of us can think straight.
My pretty little captive’s hands have slid underneath my T-shirt. She’s caressing my chest, her fingers splayed across my racing heart. Her sharp nails trace slow, teasing lines across my torso, and I groan into her mouth. Her touch isn’t submissive or tentative. It’s exploratory. A challenge that drives my desire for her even higher.
