Page 30 of Falling for the Enemy

He doesn’t do as I say.

Nyet, rather, he slaps away my weapon and dips his face to my bent neck. My pulse pounds, its echo ricocheting through my ribs as he traces his nose against my sensitive flesh, his touch erotically gentle. Inhaling, he pulls my essence deep into his lungs.

Just as I did his.

His unwarranted possessiveness over another man touching me is ridiculous considering I am not his property, as well as something I would’ve slit Capone’s throat for.

And we were engaged.

But part of my galloping heart welcomes such caveman-like behavior from the enemy holding me captive, forcing me to yield to his physical strength.

It’s inexplicable.

Maddeningly so.

“You won’t kill me,” he whispers, his deep voice washing over me in an invisible caress, heightening my mounting desire for him to touch me further. “Not when you’re starting to realize just how badly your body wants mine.”

His free hand grasps my waist in the same place Casper’s had. His vice-like grip is sure to leave a bruise, but his firm hold is nothing like my bull’s. Unlike Casper’s, his dangerous touch is one I wish for more of.

This, however, is a secret he needn’t know.

Clutching the front of his shirt, I clench the expensive fabric tight, perilously close to ripping it free of his flesh. “The only thing my body wants,” I whisper, soaking up these last few seconds of our bodies being so close, “is to hold your still-beating heart in its hands.”

The upswing of my knee is swift.

Its collision with his balls hard.

On impact, his eyes widen in shock, and he releases me, stumbling back a lone step. The move gives me the space I need to lift my arm and slam my elbow into his nose, causing his eyes to water, blurring his vision.

“Sneaky little wit—”

Needing to get the upper hand before I’m forced to yell for Casper and Nikolai’s assistance, a rare task I despise, I quickly round the desk and remove one of the three guns tucked in its top drawer. I have the loaded Ruger’s hammer pulled back in the space of a breath.

“You may be stronger than I, Mr. Santiago,” I say, pointing the revolver at the pissed-off man across the desk, the pained bellow I expected to fall from his lips remaining unheard, leaving my men none the wiser of what’s happening. “But my intelligence clearly supersedes yours.”

He assesses me without charging forward.

His lack of retaliation unnerves me.

In the dark world he and I share, such actions never fail to be met with consequences. Keeping this in mind, I train my aim on his forehead. But then I lower it, my silent threat to blow a hole through his cock, as beautiful as it most certainly is, crystal clear.

“It’s time you explain a few things, da?”

Extending his arms, he lifts his chin, the crimson droplets now marring his chin and throat matching the dry specks of blood staining his shirt. “As you wish, Hermosa.” My belly flips each time the accented endearment falls from his tongue, the foreign sensation one I could get used to. “After all, I wouldn’t want you to shatter my dick in addition to my nose and huevos.”

I smile and gently bite my lower lip, finding his lack of fear and cockiness shockingly attractive. “Such a good boy.” I wink, loving the way his dark gaze dangerously narrows in return. “Now, how about you show me just how obedient you can be by clarifying exactly why you were in Toluca this morning.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but he’ll have to wait. I’m not finished speaking. “And before you even think of lying to me...” He better heed my words if he wishes to leave this room alive. “Remember it’s my pistol that is pointed at your khui.”

His eyes flash with a warning of their own.

But before I can react, he moves.

I turn to the side as he rounds the desk, his stare refusing to deviate from mine, and take aim at his heart. Whether he thinks of me as too weak to shoot him or is fully aware of my sudden hesitation to end him, I’m unsure.

If it’s the former, he’s a fool unworthy of the kingpin title he bears.

Trigger finger tightening, my hand remains steady when he presses his chest against the muzzle of my gun. Towering frame shadowing mine, he stares down at me.

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