Page 27 of Ship Happens
He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, tips back his head, and lets out a low groan that sounds more like a growl as his eyes close. “Fuck, you havegotto stop talking down to me. You’re playing a game you don’t have the rule book for.”
As I stand here in disbelief—all while I have a locked and loaded handgun aimed at him, mind you—Maverick grips the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head. My brain empties as my eyes fill with tan skin, rippling muscle, and the...the V. The godforsaken Adonis belt. That horrifically tantalizing dip of shadow.
God, I want to use him as a champagne flute.
“Don’t get distracted now, sweetheart. Boss me around some more.” He groans again, and his green eyes practically beg me to pull the trigger. Then, before I know what’s happening, he steps into me and presses the gun’s barrel below his chin. “Pull the trigger, Frankie. Fuck, I want it so bad.”
“What is your fucking damage?” I whisper. I meant to yell the words, but my voice won’t cooperate.
He leans closer, until our lips are only a breath away. “Wouldn’t you love to know?”
Before I fuck up and kiss him—or shoot him—I thrust my knee between his legs. It’s a cheap shot, but he has the size advantage, and despite wanting to kill him, I can’t do it. With a grunt, he cradles his junk and drops to his knees.
I hurry past him and reach for my bag. My fingertips glide over a stack of passports, a few knives, and my badge, but where the fuck are my goddamn handcuffs? I remember packing them. I know I did.
Didn’t I?
Surely I didn’t forget a key part of my kit. But as I dig and dig and find everything but cuffs, that appears to me my fucking reality.
Maverick is regaining his composure. He’s on his hands and knees, and his face has gone from carmine to coral. That vein on his forehead still squiggles and throbs, but he’ll be on his feet in the next thirty seconds. I won’t have another chance to subdue him.
I rip back the zipper on a hidden side pocket, then squeal when I’m rewarded with a glint of shiny metal.
Unfortunately, I’m out of time.
Chapter Thirteen
Maverick
Now that I can finally draw a breath that doesn’t feel like it’s directly connected to my testicles, I get to my feet and lunge toward her. I don’t want to hurt her, but I need to get her to calm the fuck down so that we can talk.
Then she wheels around, and I know talking is off the table.
Her icy eyes land on me. There’s a wildness there that concerns me. She lacks the control of her counterpart, looking more like a feral cat than a stoic soldier now that her back is against the wall. In this way, she’s far more dangerous than that soldier. She’s something to fear.
I raise my hands and take a step toward her. “Hey, I don’t want to hurt you. If we can just talk about this and?—”
“I prefer to converse with people who share common interests. Something tells me we arenothingalike.” She rises to stand, the cuffs held in her left hand and the gun gripped tightly in her right. It’s no longer aimed at me, but the threat remains. “Get on the fucking bed, Maverick.”
Yeah, that ain’t happening. She’ll have to shoot me if she wants to cuff me to the bed.
I take a step back, toward the cabin door. “I have a better idea. I’ll head to the atrium and give you some time to cool off, and you?—”
“Get on the fucking bed!”
Fuck, she’s leaving me with no choice. She’s the one who needs to be handcuffed to the damn bed.
The solution comes to me like a lightning strike. I just need to wait for an opening, then get the gun out of her hand. After that, it’s as simple as cuffing her to the bed and explaining why she needs me on her side. She’ll have to see reason after that.
Thunder booms as the ship travels through the storm. A strong gust of wind pushes a sheet of rain against the balcony door again, but it makes a much louder sound this time. Frankie’s head whips to the side, and there’s my opening.
I lunge forward, keeping my entire focus on the gun. With a quick chop to her wrist, I disable her grip, and the gun drops to the carpet.
“Ow! What the fuck, Maverick?” She shakes out her hand, then steps toward the gun.
My foot rushes forward and kicks it under the bed. “Are you ready to listen now?”
The little minx is too quick for me, and she shoots forward and straps the cuff around my left wrist before I know what’s happening. It’s too bad that she won’t get the chance to secure the other side to anything else. That’s my job.
