Page 35 of Brutal Ice

“Good night, Royal.”

And she walked away.

She wasn’t alone.

The Benz was in her driveway. Sitting there like it belonged. The house was dark. It was nearing three a.m.

She wasn’t alone.

Anger built and twisted. Violet Murphy shouldn’t be going back to her perfect life. She shouldn’t be making headlines. Shouldn’t be dancing as the star of the show.

She shouldn’t have a life.

Not now.

She’d been taken. Everything would have been different. She’d been meant for other things.

Only now…

Violet isn’t alone.

The watcher shuffled closer. Large, decorative stones edged the drive. Supposed to be pretty landscape work. Fuck that.

Fuck. That.

The stones could be perfect weapons.

What in the holy hell was he supposed to do with a virgin? An actual virgin of all things?

Keep your hands off her. That was probably a good start. And, maybe, maybe that would have worked except…

His hands had already been on her. His mouth on her. And the idea that no one else had taught her just how very wicked and consuming pleasure could be?—

The shriek of an alarm and a loud crunch had Royal lunging upright. He’d been stretching out on her piss-poor excuse of a couch, with his legs dangling off the edge, but at that sound, he leapt up and off the couch. He’d stripped off his shirt and ditched his shoes and socks. He’d kept on his pants and the boxers.

With adrenaline pumping through him, Royal rushed for the door just as Violet came running down the hallway. All of the lights were off, but he saw her shadowy form. He reached out before she could get to the front door, and he locked his arm around her midsection. He pulled her up against him. Felt the soft silk of her pajamas brush over his chest.

“Don’t even think of running out there,” he breathed against her ear. “Someone set off my car alarm.”

She shivered against him.

“I’m checking things. You are staying here.” He let her go. He also paused to retrieve his gun.

“Where in the world did you get that?” A startled whisper.

Probably not the time to mention he’d had the weapon on him the entire night. He was armed. The gun had been strapped to his ankle. When he’d lounged on her uncomfortable-ass couch, he’d tucked it close by. Now he gripped the weapon like the old friend that it was and advanced toward her window as?—

Something hurtled at the window. Glass broke, splintering into a thousand pieces, and this time, her home alarm started blaring. A loud, piercing cry.

Sonofabitch.

Chapter Seven

Fear held her frozen.

“Stay here,” Royal ordered her.

She wasn’t sure she could move. The alarms—both her home alarm and his car alarm—kept blaring. Her window had shattered, and glass littered the floor.

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