Page 63 of Diamond In The Rough

“Micah!”

He only smirks for Roscoe. “See ya.” Then he slams the door, rattling the wall, and turns to me with a shit-eating grin. “He’s not gonna bother you anymore.”

“He was never a bother!” I try to swing past his broad body. To push his heavy form aside and grab the door handle. But Micah is too quick. Too strong. Too commanding. Because he slams me against the door, my back hitting the wood, and my body, the very reason I can’t escape.

“Your eyes intrigue me, Tiia.” He follows me in, pressing his chest to mine, and the buckle of his belt pokes my hip. “Your words are sharp and often unkind.”

“Oh sure,” I groan. Is it an angry groan, directed at him? Or something worse? “My words are unkind. But your knife to my throat…”

“Was an error on my part.” He fists the wine in one hand and cups my hip with the other. His thumb stretching around to touch my exposed belly, and his fingers wrapping to tease the tender skin on my back. “I protect my family. That is my job, and in doing so, I made an incorrect assumption about you.” His lips hover mere inches from mine. His breath on my tongue, and his eyes, a burning brand against my skin. “You wouldn’t be the first woman sent in to screw with us. You won’t be the last.”

I swallow and drag my gaze from his lips.

I want to stare. To study. A small, shame-filled part of my heart wants to taste. But I pull my eyes up and meet his—which isn’t much better, really. “Do you threaten every woman who comes near you?”

“Only the truly beautiful, obviously capable ones. You’re no airhead, Tiia. The fact I tagged you as a threat is a compliment.”

A soft, single bubble of air escapes my throat on a laugh. “Charming.”

“Unintentionally.” He rests the length of his body against mine, his legs hugging my thighs, and his heart thudding rhythmically against my chest. His pulse doesn’t skitter like mine. It doesn’t thunder out of control and make him look foolish.

No, Micah Malone is too disciplined for that.

But he brings his free hand up, stroking his fingers along my jaw and drawing my breath to a deadly standstill.

“What if I told you I wanted to take you to bed?” He tips his head to the side, long lashes fluttering against his cheeks when he slowly blinks. “I’m aware men typically woo a woman. Ask her out. Buy her flowers.” He inches closer, until my core practically straddles his thigh, and his breath settles in the base of my lungs. “I know women usually want romance.”

“Do they?” I detest that my voice crackles. That my throat is bone-dry and aching. “I don’t recall ever asking for that.”

“Other women.” He runs the tip of his nose along my cheekbone. “Other women want to be romanced, Tiia. But I don’t know that you do.”

“What do you think I want?” I can’t help that my heart skitters. That my palms turn clammy, and yet, somehow, even when I don’t consciously decide to move them, end up on his leather belt.

Against his hips.

Oh god. I drop my head back and groan. My hands are on a mafioso’s hips.

“You want to be fucked thoroughly. Savagely.” He trails his nose to the base of my neck and inhales. “You want to be used up and enjoyed. And you want to have fun doing it.”

“You make me sound cheap.” I close my eyes. “Fucked, not romanced. Used, not loved.”

“You want to be loved, too. Your body. Your mind.”

He nips at my skin, drawing a surprised yelp from the depths of my stomach.

“Your words,” he rasps. “Your wit. But not your heart.”

I force my eyes open and blink my vision clear. Yet, when he straightens out and stares down into them, all I see is green. Mossy forests. Dark ocean water. I see a rich canopy of trees, and a lifetime of secrets untold.

“Not my heart?”

“Nah.” He glances down to my chest, heaving in search of fresh air, while all I manage to fill my lungs with is him. His aftershave, which also smells of the forest. Woodsy. Maybe a little ashy.

I’m hostage to his every whim. A prisoner to his easy touch.

He’s so unaffected by this. His pulse, beating at a normal speed. His hands, not clammy with nerves… or worse, with want.

“You don’t want to be in love yet, Tiia.” He hooks his finger in the front of my top. Slowly pulling the fabric from my skin, he reveals my trembling breasts. My nipples. My pounding heart. “You want to be fucked until it hurts.” Finally, his breath comes a little shorter. His body, reacting to the platter practically laid out in front of him to take. “You want to be enjoyed, and in exchange, you want to enjoy being with me.”

---