This is just… entirely too much.
Thoughtful kidnapping cannot possibly be a thing. Though if it were, I think it’d be right up El Diablo’s alley.
Turning back around, I step tentatively over to the bed while watching him. Lying half-on, his long legs bent over the edge while he covers his eyes with his hands. I have to bite my lip to hold a chuckle in.
He just looks so ridiculous doing that. ElPresidenteof the Colombian cartel, in his affluent attire… It’s odd to see him acting like a normal person, and a goofy one, at that.
But again, I don’t reallyknowhim. This is only the third time I’ve spoken words to him. Already a longer encounter than last night, though we really just went straight from me threatening him to me on my back with his lips running up my inner thigh…
Fuck.
As much as it feels like weshouldknow one another, we still don’t. More to the point, I don’t believeanyonetruly knows Manuel Blanco.
“Are you done??” He barks, sitting up and reaching one of his hands out in front of him. As if hereallyisn’t peeking at all. “I know girls take longer to get ready, but I’m way too impatient for that. If you’re not done yet, I’ll dress you myself.”
My lips curve. Completely against my will.
“Angelito?” Brow creasing, his mouth slopes into this sort of lop-sided grin. “Are you about to kill me…?”
A snort bursts out of me, and he finally uncovers his eyes. His expression is one of boyish amusement. But the grin melts off as he gawks, round, dark eyes running from my bare feet up my frame,slowly, until they eventually land on my face.
My burning hot fucking face.
The thing is, he’s not giving me theI’m going to eat you alivelook. It’s in there, but it’s hidden behind some other things. Andthoseare what’s currently making me want to puke all over my fancy dress.
He thinks I’m weird…
He doesn’t understand me.
I mean,Idon’t understand me either. Buthe’sThe Ivory…
He knew my father well.
Is he thinking about how disappointed my father would be…? That his son likes to dress in women’s clothes…
I feel like we’ve been silent for way too long, and I’m shifting my weight, wondering how I can squirm away from his scrutinizing.
“You’re oh-for-three, pajarito.” He finally says, softly.
His face is gleaming. Villainous, but still… unexpectedly vibrant. Shinier than I ever expected the evil fucker who ruined my life to look.
Is he teasing to hide his discomfort?
Does he even experience discomfort? Don’t you have to be human to feel such things?
“I told you, when I kill you, it’ll be with my father’s knife,” I murmur, taunting him while he continues to stare. “Is this why you’re really holding me in here? So you can pick out my clothes and dress me up like your own life-sized Barbie…”
A sinfully delighted smile swoops up his unreasonably pink lips. But I can’t even focus on how much its sheer prettiness is bothering me…
I’m too busy quivering from the even bigger bucket of ice-cold insecurities I just dumped over my own head with my stupid joke.
Barbie… Really??
You had to call yourself a girlanda doll in the same breath…
What the hell is wrong with you?
Sure,hedoesn’t seem weirded out. But I’m panicking a little, and I don’t even understand why.
