“Nina, you don’t have to do this,” Aaron says from behind me. “It’s my fault. I’ll take the consequences.”
“It’s okay.” Her gaze darts to her brother, then back to me, and Aaron catches sight of the gun. “Blake and I?—”
“Where did you get that?” Aaron exclaims.
Wincing, she drops the gun and presses her lips together. “I, uh.”
“Are you bringing any clothes?” I snap, running out of patience.
“No, I?—”
“Naked works for me.” I scoop up the fluffy handcuffs and bend down as I go to my girl. She blinks, unsure what I’m doing, then squeals as I catch her by the waist, lift her over my shoulders and carry her away.
She’s mine.
16
NINA
In the back of the sleek, expensive car, Blake holds my hand. I keep sneaking glances over at him.
Pictures didn’t do him justice. In person, Blake is spectacular. Handsome is a pitiful understatement. He’s wearing a dark-grey suit and white shirt, open at the collar. I close my mouth so I don’t drool.
It’s only a few minutes across Norwood, and Blake spends it giving a series of sharp instructions to the driver.
“We shouldn’t be disturbed,” he tells me in a lower voice as the car slides through the ornate metal gates and enters an oasis of peace in the centre of busy Norwood.
Blake’s house is huge. Sprawling, beyond a high brick wall and dense trees, and in a garden big enough to count as a park. I remember him saying that he was born into this role, and this place makes it obvious that his power and money have history behind them. There are even graves—presumably of his family—dotted along the long driveway.
Good to know Blake won’t be inconvenienced if he decides to unalive me.
The house itself is sort of gothic, with arched windows almost like a church.
It’s totally secluded.
I don’t know whether that’s reassuring or terrifying when the car glides to a stop.
I have to shuffle across the black leather seat, but as soon as I’m out, Blake has swept me over his shoulder again. I scream in shock as he rises to his full—very tall—height.
His hand braces over my thighs, and my bottom is, again, right. Next. To. Blake’s. Face.
Embarrassment rushes through me.
“Blake!” I cry. “I’ll walk!”
“Bunny, you’re kidnapped,” he growls. “This is how it goes.”
I get an impression of his house—a cavernous entrance hall, old-world grandeur. Leather chairs, rich colours, dark wooden flooring.
He kicks open a door, and I try to lever myself up, my hands on his muscled lower back. And his arse… My clit pulses.
I manage to twist enough to look around and see a large bedroom, painted in a dark, masculine green, and filled with natural light, before I’m hauled from Blake’s shoulder.
He throws me onto the bed, and I hit it with an “oof!” of surprise as the air is knocked out of me.
Then he’s over me, on top of me, crowding me with his wide shoulders. His knee parts mine ruthlessly.
“I take what I want. What I’m owed.”
