Page 56 of Ruthless Vow

“No… It’s just that… do you know where to look? Did Danila tell you anything specific about her location?” I’ve been searching for her for years and never even come close.

“He did. But it’s unlikely she’s still at that location. The second your aunt realized that Danila was in my tender care, she would have had your sister moved.”

He’s right. I slump, feeling defeated.

“Nonetheless, I have sent Dante to check things out. Wewillfind her.”

He sounds so certain.

I nod and glance around, not sure what I’m supposed to do now. Everything in me is screaming to go searching for my sister. But searching where? I need to let Leo’s people do their thing.

His gaze rakes me, lingering for an instant on my cheek. Then he crosses to the bar and pours a glass of whiskey.

I cross my arms, hugging myself, unsure what I’m supposed to say or do. I watch in silence as he walks to the black tufted leather chaise lounge by the window and sits, his gaze locked on my face.

“Come here,” he says, his tone stern, allowing no room for argument.

I walk over and stand in front of him. He takes my hand and pulls me down onto his lap, shifting me so I’m sitting sideways across his thighs, positioned to his satisfaction so he can look into my face. The robe falls open, baring my leg. I reach down to pull it closed, but he stops me with a light touch on my wrist.

“You ran from me,” he says, his expression steely, his tone cold, his palm warm as he strokes my exposed thigh.

It wasn’t a question so I don’t offer an answer. I don’t bother to point out that he left the door of the holding cell unlocked or that I’m pretty certain he wanted me to run. That he set me up. He expected me to lead him straight to my boss. And I did.

“How did you know where to find me?” I ask.

He takes a sip of whiskey. His hand slides a little higher, his fingers curving around the inside of my thigh.

“I put a tracker in your locket.”

I should be enraged. Instead, I’m grateful. Had he not tracked me, I would be dead.

He takes another sip of whiskey then sets the glass down on the side table.

“You withheld information, Nicole. You told me about your sister, but not about your aunt. You put yourself in danger by leaving my protective custody.”

“Protective custody? I was your prisoner.”

His expression becomes even steelier, colder. Why do I find that attractive? Why does the feel of his hand on the naked skin of my thigh make me ache and yearn? Why does the sound of his voice, so stern, make me scared and horny and breathless?

“Protective custody,” he corrects me, his tone colder than a snowstorm, his hand sliding higher still. I squirm and shift on his lap.

He makes a sound of displeasure and slides his hand down my thigh.

My breath hitches as I force myself to be still.

As a reward, he slides his palm along my inner thigh, all the way to the top, and lets it rest there, almost touching my clit.

I stare at the hard line of his mouth, wanting him to kiss me.

Instead, he squeezes my thigh, hard enough to make me gasp.

“You have been very bad, Nicole. And you need to be punished.” He pauses, letting the words wash over me. “I’m going to put you over my knee,” he says. “I’m going to spank your ass. It’s going to hurt. And when I’m satisfied that you will be a good girl, I’m going to fuck you.”

My mouth is dry, my breathing fast and shallow. My pussy is wet, a coil of lust twisting through me.

He won’t force me. I know that. I could stand up. I could move away. I could protest or simply refuse.

I do none of those things because I remember watching Leo spank that woman who’d been face down on his desk. I remember wanting to be the one under his hand.

---