I rolled my eyes, trying to mask the effect his sensual lethargy was having on my lady bits. “You keep your toy under your pillow?”
“Only when I have company I don’t trust.”
“Then maybe you should’ve tied me up.”
His lips curved, that smile so damn delicious I was having a hard time trying to act disinterested. “The thought crossed my mind.” His eyes flicked down to my breasts briefly. “But I liked watching you sleep.”
My brow shot up. “That’s creepy.”
“That’s honesty.” He shrugged, shifting upward and folding his arms behind his head, the sheets sliding down to his hips.
The sight of that deceiving ‘v’ made my throat dry. I pointed the gun at him. “You really don’t scare easily, do you?”
“You think I’d be afraid of a woman who claimed to hate me yet spent the night begging a monster not to stop fucking her?”
My cheeks flushed crimson. “You’re insufferable.”
“Sure you don’t want to use it?” He jerked his chin at the weapon.
“Maybe I should.”
“Then do it,” his tone dropped, dark and teasing. “Or come here and prove you’re braver without it.”
His dick twitched beneath the sheet and my breath hitched. He was baiting me, much like the way he did last night when every argument between us turned into a burning touch and every insult into a kiss.
I eyed him long enough for him to see indecision mask my intention to run then set the gun on the nightstand. Slowly I stood, feeling the faint tremble of my legs and the heavy ache between them.
“I don’t need to prove anything to you.” I headed for the bathroom, my pace unhurried, hoping to convince him I was not about to give in. Inside, I locked the door behind me, stupidly believing he couldn’t kick it down if he wanted and waited a few minutes.
Thankfully, he didn’t knock, call out or break down the door and satisfied he wasn’t going to, I stepped into the shower.
Steam curled around me as I tipped my head back under the shower spray, the hot water washing away the evidence of Remo’s touch yet not the imprint it left on my aching body. I hadn’t meant to stay. Before I went to sleep last night, I promised myself to run the first chance I got. But now, standing in his shower surrounded by dark marble, the scent of his shampoo in my hair and bodywash on my skin, the thought of leaving felt absurdly distant.
The stark reminder had me closing the faucet with an unladylike snort. I stepped out, grabbing one of his oversized towels and caught my reflection in the mirror. My lips were swollen, my neck, breasts and hips blemished with dark hickeys, and teeth marks yet my eyes shone bright with something I couldn’t fathom. I almost laughed.
Kidnapped by a man, fucked by a monster.
As I dried myself, I remembered my torn scrubs. “Dammit,” I grumbled, certain I could’ve been more strategic and fought him off or held him at gunpoint and demanded he take me back. Instead, I locked myself in his bathroom. “Way to go, dumbass.” I wrapped the towel around me and opened the door with enough force to let it hit the wall. “Take me–” I paused, realizing I was alone in the room. “Remo?”
No answer.
I walked to the window, hoping for an escape and grimaced. This high off the ground I’d probably break my neck if I jumped. Rolling my eyes, I glanced over my shoulder at the glass doors to his walk-in closet and padded there, taking in the rows of shirts and pants on one side, jackets on the other, folded t-shirts and shoes in front. All neatly color-coded.
“OCD much,” I muttered, swapping the towel for one of his button-down shirts. Thankfully, it fell mid-thigh, offering some decency if I encountered one of his men. Leaving my wet hair to hang loose, I left the room.
The moment I reached the stairway, the sinful smell of garlic, butter, roasted tomatoes and freshly ground coffee beans yanked my nose down the stairs, through a long hallway and into a large sunlit kitchen.
I froze.
Barefooted, bare torso, grey sweatpants slung low enough to expose the top of a tight ass, dark hair mussed from sleep, pan in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other, Remo stood atthe stove top. The morning sun danced over the firm muscles of his back, lighting the ink winding over his shoulder. Despite the picture-perfect scene of bliss, a gun holster hung on a chair beside him, just within reach, reminding me of who he really was.
He glanced over his shoulder; his face relaxed with a mischievous smile, his eyes sweeping down my body, lingering on my bare legs before lifting back to my face. “Breakfast?”
“I need to go.” I snapped out of my delirium. “I need clothes and I need to get to the hospital.”
“You look good in my shirt,” he said it so calmly, I wanted to scream.
I stomped closer. “You cannot kidnap me, sleep with me and then–”
