Page 21 of Secret Twins for the Orc

“Taking the uncivilized approach,” he growls, not even slightly fazed at my attempts to free myself from his grip. I can feel the strength in his wide shoulders beneath me, feel the power in every stride he takes, and when I try to push myself off him, pressing my hands against the strong, lean muscles of his back, I almost flinch away again at how good he feels beneath my fingers. How good he smells, musky and masculine with just a hint of cologne and—god damn it! He does not smell masculine and good! He is a horrible, horrible orc!

“Put me down, you absolute barbarian!” I raise my voice even louder, but he just grips me tighter as I wriggle to free myself, one arm wrapped firmly around both my thighs and pinning me in place with his steel grip. It’s late, and all the businesses nearby are long empty. There’s no-one to see or hear the madness currently coming to pass, and he continues completely unbothered, as if he’s thrown a light purse over his shoulder and not a fully grown, struggling adult woman. “This is workplace harassment!”

I hear his car door pop open before he dumps me unceremoniously into a sleek, black pick-up truck, slamming the door and locking it before I can even right myself. I grab at the handle anyway, glaring at him as he rounds the car, ready to rip it open again the second he unlocks to get in.

But when he enters on the driver’s side and I pull, my door remains firmly shut.

“Why is your truck child-locked!” I’m screeching at him. I’m definitely screeching, but I have never, never been so angry in my life. The absolute, high-handed nerve of this guy! “What is wrong with you?”

He doesn’t respond, his face settling into a heavy frown as he backs out of his spot and begins to drive into the night.

I cross my arms and sit stiff in my seat, glaring ahead as if I could melt a hole in the windshield with sheer force of will. I can’t believe what is happening right now.

“Put on your seatbelt.”

I ignore him, and with a growl he leans over me as he drives, rips the belt down, and buckles me in without looking.

I turn my glare to his profile, trying my luck at melting a hole into his face. His expression remains unaffected; brows low, lips pulled down against his tusks, glowering in his regular grumpy way as he stares ahead. If it wasn’t for the messy strands of black hair now falling from his topknot to hint that he’d gone through any sort of struggle in the last minute, he’d look as normal as ever.

The silence stretches between us, and his dark eyes flick my way. “What.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To eat.”

I slap my hand ineffectually against the door at my side. “You can’t just abduct someone for a date!”

“So file a missing person’s report.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” He shrugs, and I glare harder. “Are you really so desperate that you’ve stooped to kidnapping?”

“I’d have to be, if I was trying to date you.”

“Says the man who grabbed me off the street and forced me into his car. I don’t know what orc women are into, but this is not how you woo a human.”

“Orc women love a good abduction,” he says, lips lifting in a smug expression. “And a good chase.”

“Well I’m not an orc! And if you treat everyone like this, it’s no wonder you’re alone!”

I notice his fingers tighten against the steering wheel and his smile immediately fades.

But I push away any vague feelings of guilt as we sit in silence for the rest of the ride. So what if I hit a nerve? The bastard just kidnapped me. I refuse to accept that I care about hurting his feelings, despite the unease that curls in my stomach.

***

Andhrimnir’s Table stands before us, a quaint restaurant with a thatched roof, whitewashed walls, and a warmly lit, inviting interior that I’d have loved to check out any other day. But tonight, I’m warring with myself over whether to hold on to my anger and refuse to enter—or give in to the wonderful smell of roasting meat that’s wafting over me.

Beside me, Rhokar clears his throat. “It’s not a date.”

I purse my lips and tighten my arms across my chest silently.

His hands settle over my arms then, but before I can shrug him off, he turns me to face him and lets go. I ignore the way my skin tingles at his touch.

“The food is good. It’ll…sustain you.”

I squint my eyes as confusion seeps in with my annoyance. What is he talking about?Sustain me?Is he worried about me?

The restaurant doors swing open, and a couple walk out in that moment, the smell of something roasting intensifying and making my stomach rumble. His frown deepens.

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