Page 65 of Sinning for Santa

A tear pops from her eye then, and a dainty hand reaches into my peripheral, as Jaxcen hands Edith a napkin.

As Edith dabs at her wet cheeks, and her husband begins to break down, Jaxcen’s tear filled gaze locks with mine.

“What are you doing to these people?”

It’s a whisper, but I hear it, and I can’t blame her for jumping to the wrong conclusion. I did kidnap her after all. Hell, she probably thinks I kidnapped everyone that lives here.

It’s then that I know my epiphany is true.

Fuck.

That’s exactly what she thinks.

“Give me the knife, please,” I ask politely, and she screws her nose up at me.

“Go to hell.”

Frustrated, tired, and fucking horny from this temptress always testing me, I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing myself to have more patience.

When I glance up, I know I can spend all fucking day wishing for patience, but it’ll never happen.

“Youkeep forgetting, little mouse. This is hell, and you’re in it with me.”

My words make her gasp in disbelief, distracting her, so she doesn’t see me coming until I’m halfway over the bar top, with my sights set on her.

She tries to turn. To flee.

She’s not quick enough, and the moment I fist my hand in her hair, she screams.

Chapter thirteen

Jaxcen

Swinging my hand out, I try to stab Devon’s leg, but all it does is slice over the top of his jeans, his fist in my hair tight and unyielding.

“Stop!” he snaps against my ear, his strong hand finding my wrist before I can take another backwards swipe at him, his grip tightening as he twists my wrist in an unnatural way. “Drop the fucking knife.”

I cry out as pain shoots through my wrist, the knife clattering to the sticky tiles beneath my feet before Devon’s arms wrap around me from behind, pressing me against the back counter.

“Do you think I kidnapped all of the women that are here, little mouse?” he rasps against my cheek, and I catch his gaze in the mirror lining the back of the bar with dozens of bottles perched on glass shelves.

His eyes are so dark. So menacing that it sends a chill up my spine, and heat to pool between my legs.

Why, oh why does my body respond like this to him? He’s a monster. A predator. Am I really that starved for a man’s touch that I melt even if it comes from the most vicious beast?

“Why else would they be here with you?” I grit between clenched teeth, curling my lips so he sees my disdain.

“Maybe they chose to be here. Maybe they feel safe here with me. Ever think of that?”

I scoff. “More like they are too scared to tell you how they really feel.”

He smirks. “Unlike you, Miss Summers. You’re getting good at telling me what you really think. It’s a shame your body doesn’t hold the hate for me that your mind does.”

He cups my breast, and I try to squirm free, but he has me trapped against the bench, his strength too much for me to compete with.

“Fuck, little mouse. Do you feel that?” His hot breath fans over my cheek as his lips graze the blazing skin. “Your nipple is straining under your dress.” As if to show me, he gives the pebbled traitor a pinch.

“Stop.” I breathe, and he chuckles quietly.

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