Page 6 of Snow Bound

“You know exactly what the hell I’m talking about. You ghosted me, and it was a shitty thing to do.”

A flicker of confusion joined the anger in his expression. “I didn’t ghost you.”

Remembered embarrassment joined the rage, heating her cheeks. She’d been so excited for that play date, and so disappointed—so humiliated—when he’d stood her up. “Oh really? What do you call it when you make a date with someone and never show up?”

He climbed to his feet, using the kitchen island for leverage, and she snatched the toaster off the counter. “Don’t you come another step closer or I’ll bean you.”

“I believe you.” He eyed the toaster warily. “Were you always this hostile and I just didn’t notice, or is it a new thing?”

“Pardon me,” she said, the words dripping with sarcasm. “But I tend to hold a grudge when someone treats me like shit.”

His eyes flashed warningly. “I did not treat you like shit.”

“The hell you didn’t. You made me think you liked me?—”

“I did like you,” he tried to interrupt.

“—showing me around the club, asking me questions like you were interested. What do you think of how he’s flogging her? Does bondage appeal to you?” She mimicked his voice with a sneering sarcasm that had his eyes flashing again. She didn’t care. “Making a date with me for a scene, you asshole.”

He straightened, eyes narrowed. “Watch it.”

“Is that how you get off?” she demanded, ignoring the danger signs. She wasn’t scared of him, the asshole. “Lead the newbies on, get their hopes up, then fuck them over?”

“I’m trying to be patient here, Anna, because you’re clearly upset. But you’re starting to piss me off.”

“You’re pissed off? Fuck you,” she snarled and heaved the toaster.

It was still plugged in, so instead of sailing across the room to smash satisfyingly into that smug, sexy face it stopped two feet out and dropped to hang drunkenly from its cord over the counter. But she didn’t have time to worry about it, because the instant she threw it, he moved.

She squeaked and threw up her hands, but it was too late. One moment he was standing on the other side of the room, the big kitchen island between them, and the next he had her hands in a steel grip. He dragged them behind her, pinning them at the small of her back, and growled, “I am this close to putting you over my knee."

He was only a few inches taller than her five-nine, so even barefoot she could look him in the eye without much effort. He was so close she could see the darker blue ring around his pale irises, the flare of his nostrils as he fought for control. There was a small, quiet voice in the back of her mind that warned her it was a mistake to test that control, but she was past caring. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He said it softly, almost carefully, and it was more effective than a thousand shouts.

Uneasy, she flexed her hands. “Let me go.”

“Not until I’m sure you’re not going to throw the knife block at me. Henry, sit.”

She blinked, caught off guard, then realized he was talking to the dog, who had wandered over to sniff at her toes. She glanced down to see the big dog follow orders, then look up at his master as though waiting for further instructions.

“Good boy. Now, Anna.”

She whipped around to look up at him again, a spurt of renewed anger loosening her tongue. “If you think you can order me around like your dog?—”

“Hardly,” he interrupted. “The dog obeys.”

She was giving serious consideration to spitting in his face—damn the consequences—when he said, “I didn’t ghost you.”

Outrage nearly rendered her speechless. “You damn well did.”

“I was called out of town for work,” he went on as though she hadn’t spoken.

She snorted. “Right.”

“I left a message with the bartender, Kell.” He cocked an eyebrow, an unspoken question.

“I got your message,” she told him with a defiant toss of her head. “Kell said you had a work emergency, and would get in touch. Spoiler alert—you did not, in fact, get in touch.”

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