Page 68 of Devious Secrets

Ignoring her for the moment, I pull into the underground garage. I park next to Ivan’s Aston Martin and turn off the ignition, grabbing her arm before she can think to get out of the car.

“Are we at Obsidian?” she asks, ducking her head and looking around the garage. It’s only large enough for half a dozen cars. It’s not meant for general parking.

“I have a meeting that I couldn’t push in order to take you home, so you’ll stay in my office.” I put a finger up. “In my office and nowhere else, do you understand me?”

She rolls her eyes. “You know, if you’d just let me go, you wouldn’t have to worry about where I was or what I was doing all the time.”

While it’s a fair point, it’s irrelevant. She’s not going anywhere.

Marco DeAngelo won’t just kill her if he gets his hands on her now. He’ll hurt her, torture her, do all sorts of horrible things to her before he considers killing her.

“I don’t have to worry now either. Because you’re going to stay in my office like a good girl.”

Another eye roll. She’s only been with Elana for half a day and already the attitude is wearing off on her. And Megan had plenty of her own to start with.

“Are you going to let me go home like a good boy?” She twists her lips into a sarcastic grin, like she’s just won some contest.

Wrapping my hand around her throat, I drag her toward me, putting just enough pressure for her to feel the power I have over her breathing. Her eyes widen. The black of her pupils wash away those pretty irises of hers just as my mouth crushes hers.

Fuck, she’s an addiction. There’s fear here, just the tiniest bit, but enough for me to want to feast on her. But it’s more than that. It’s the sweetness of her, the beautiful way her body softens beneath my strength.

When I break the kiss, her eyes flitter open and find mine. I squeeze her throat, just a fraction.

“Never for a second think I’m anything more than what I am.” It’s a warning.

“You’re an asshole.” She blinks and a tear slips down her cheek. I release her throat and wipe the tear away with my thumb, bringing it to my lips and licking the salty moisture.

“Worse.” I pop open my door. “I’m the asshole who’s going to marry you.”

I climb out of the car and round the back to her side before she can get the door open.

“There has to be another way.” She accepts my hand when I offer it to help her out, then quickly drops it. “I’ll figure out something else.”

I cup her elbow and lead her to the entrance of Obsidian. There’s no point to this discussion. She’s not going anywhere. She’s not going to figure out anything. She’s going to be my wife, and the sooner she accepts it, the better.

“Don’t the police ever want to come in here and see what’s going on?” she asks as we walk down the corridor to my office. Her fingers drag along the stone wall.

“No.”

“What happens down there exactly?” She stops at the winding staircase that would bring her down to the heart of the club. I tug her along.

“Nothing you need to know about because you’re going to stay in my office. Right?” I squeeze her elbow.

A sigh is her only reply.

“Marco’s expecting me to pay the money he says Mira owes. As far as he knows, I don’t even know about this Dexter guy being dead. And you said yourself it was heart attack.”

“I said it’s being covered up as a heart attack.”

“Well, either way. How would I know if it’s a cover-up? I wouldn’t. So, I really only have the one problem of the money.” The faint scent of my soap hits me as she sweeps past me and into my office.

I like having my scent on her. I was going to have her give the housekeeper a list of things she wanted from the store, shampoos, lotions, and such, but I might have to rethink that idea.

“And do you have the money he says you owe him?” I shut the door behind me and lean against it as she paces around the room, inspecting her surroundings.

“No.” She pauses at the painting hanging on the wall of my family home back in Russia. My mother had it commissioned before my father proved himself to be the bastard that he was.

“Then I don’t see how your situation has improved.” I move across the room to stand beside her and point to the painting she’s admiring. “My father was raised there.”

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