Page 33 of Hot for Hostage

His hands on my hips took over—moving me against him in quick, deliberate circles—and my free hand grabbed the short wall in front of me for support. The angle combined with him taking control had me forgetting to breathe.

If someone had told me this morning that I’d be taking Davian Reed hostage and basically dry humping him in the back of his SUV, I would’ve called them crazy.

But as his lips found my neck and one of his hands slid up toward my breast, I decided pulling a gun on him was the best decision I’d ever made.

Bear disagreed.

A tight ball was forming in my belly—and my grip tightened on the handle—when Bear’s growl cut through the haze, followed by Davian cursing sharply and his hand wrenching back from my breast.

“Wha—?” I blinked at how abruptly he’d stopped.

Until I spotted the culprit. Bear was tugging on the sleeve of Davian’s jacket. He yanked with a snarl, but Davian grabbed Bear by the neck.

“Bear,stop!” I cried, reaching for him, too—just before the SUV jerked to a halt. Without Davian holding me, I flew forward, and my head smacked the screen divider. “Ow.”

The pain made me pull back just as Davian leaned forward, and our heads collided with a painfulcrack.

Ow. Ow.Ow.

This couldnotbe happening right now.

Davian let out a string of curses and tugged me back onto his lap. “You okay?”

No, I was not okay.

Everything hurt.

My head throbbed, but I managed a weak reply. “If I die, tell Gladys my secret dog treat recipes are hidden under my mattress.”

He grunted. “You’re not dying, but your head took a hard hit.”

A soft groan escaped me. “It sure feels like I’m dying.”

The screen lowered, and Malcolm eyed us in the rearview mirror. “Everything okay back there, boss?”

“Why the heavy foot on the brakes, Malcolm?” Davian asked through a clenched jaw.

I blinked through the pain, clearing my vision. Malcolm’s forehead creased in confusion. “I heard her yell to stop the car, so I stopped.”

Ohgod.

“Just drive,” Davian bit out.

His hands returned to my hips, and I twisted to get a better look at his sleeve.

“Is your jacket okay?” I whispered to Davian. I already owed him a new pair of shoes, and I couldn’t afford a jacket on top.

“It’s fine, just wet.” Amusement warmed his voice. Then he grunted. “Your furry bodyguard sure takes his job seriously.”

I winced and rubbed my head where we’d collided. “I think he might be traumatized by the dognapping, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

Bear reallywasa good dog—just more protective than I’d thought.

I checked on the furball in question, who was watching me and smiling with his tongue lolling out.

“That was very bad,” I said in a no-nonsense voice.

He dropped his head onto his paws and whined softly, melting my heart. The big, sad puppy-dog eyes—which always got him extra treats at the shelter—just weren’t fair.

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