Page 10 of Ruthless Enforcer

Fuck my life. I quickly close the door and walk toward the road.

Two minutes. I can survive two minutes.

Probably.

8

CLARA

Idon't have a bra on.

I don't know if I'm glad he gave me privacy or if I'm disappointed.

9

GABRIEL

Aminute later, the passenger door opens and Clara calls out, "Reyes?"

I turn.

She's standing by the hood, wearing my sweatshirt. Nothing else. Bare legs, black heels, red hair coming loose from its pins, and the emeralds peeking from the neckline.

My brain stops working. Every feral instinct I've been holding in check claws to the surface.

She glances down at herself, then back at me, one eyebrow raised. "Problem?"

Several. All of them her.

My jaw aches from how hard I'm clenching my teeth. My cock is rock-hard behind my slacks, throbbing with an immediate, furious demand that has no business existing here. I shut down all the desires that pop into my head and stride back to the SUV. "Get in the fucking truck, Duchess."

10

CLARA

The way he looked at me…

I've never had a stronger urge to slip my fingers into my panties and touch myself.

The thought arrives like a lightning strike—sharp, electric, completely inappropriate—as Gabriel's hands grip the steering wheel and his jaw clenches so hard I can see the muscle working beneath his skin. He's not looking at me. He's deliberately, intensely not looking at me, which somehow makes it worse.

Better.

I wonder if he'd like to watch that too.

The thought sends a flush of heat straight through my core. Maybe this is part of the shock of nearly being taken and watching a man get killed. Maybe my brain needs something else to focus on, and sex is the natural thing. It’s life-affirming, right?

Only I’ve never turned to sex for anything before, and I’ve certainly never felt like I do now, next to Gabriel Reyes.

I squirm against the leather seat, trying to find a position that doesn't make the ache between my thighs absolutely unbearable. It doesn't work. If anything, the friction only makes me wetter, my body responding to his proximity with hunger.

I've spent ten years fantasizing about and zero years actually experiencing. I know longing, but I have no experience with any of this.

I'm wearing his sweatshirt—nothing else—but I want to take it off and ask him to cover me with his hands instead.

And Gabriel Reyes is driving us into the Montana wilderness like a man white-knuckling his way through a minefield.

Because he’s feeling this too?