Page 13 of Brutal Savage

His lips form a thin line. “Come on, Ms. Hill. Don’t make me wait any longer. I’m not a very patient man.”

I have two options: fight him or give in.

Thinking through it, I’m not sure running would get me very far. Because a man like this always gets what he wants.

What’s the worst that can happen?

He could kill me…

Discreetly, I slip my hand into my pouch to retrieve my keys. They’re the only weapon I have handy, and one could do lots of damage with them.

Stabbing him in the throat comes to mind.

My fingers close in around them as I nervously start toward the SUV.

Everything about him screams death and destruction, and I wonder if I’m headed toward my own grave.

He looks satisfied with himself when I hop in beside him, while every molecule in me begs to get out.

When I try to fasten my seat belt, he grabs it from me. “Let me.”

His eyes snap to mine as he buckles me in. And when his knuckles accidentally brush my arm, my body crackles like fireworks.

I inhale sharply, his eyes hooded as they drop to my mouth, then back up, gaze sinking deeper, like he wants to devour me.

But the devil won’t be able to. I won’t let him.

He straightens his spine and starts the car, moving it slowly—like he wants to keep me here for as long as possible.

“Do you normally pick up random women on the side of the road? You should know that’s how some creepy movies start.”

That mouth, it twitches like he wants to laugh. “Do you think I’m creepy?”

“Will it get me killed if I answer truthfully?”

He tilts his penetrating gaze to mine. “Why would I kill you?”

I shrug. “Because you’re you.”

“What do you know about me? What did your friend tell you?” His voice simmers, and my stomach tightens.

“Nothing?”

“Come on, Ms. Hill.” His palm drops to the top of my thigh right above my kneecap, and I instantly shiver, biting my lip to stop myself from groaning, my nails digging into my palm.

This is embarrassing at this point. How can a man affect me this much?

A tattoo snakes around the top of his hand, a lion with cold, discerning eyes, like it’s watching me.

“What do they say about me in these parts?”

My breaths grow ragged when he squeezes his fingers a little.

I tremble in my seat, unable to withstand the strange creeping of need slinking down my body. Unable to shake off how much I like the way he’s touching me right now. His hands—large and rough and masculine—like he’d throw me around with ease even if I fight him.

“Nothing. I swear.” The words choke out of me, and that causes a harsh, short chuckle to break through his lungs.

“You’re a bad liar.” His touch leaves me, and the spot where his palm was feels instantly barren.

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