Page 42 of Wrath
Her breasts scraped against the rough fabric of his shirt. He hissed and tried to sit back as though burned. His reaction brought another smile to her face. Maybe this was going to be fun, after all.
She climbed on top of him and he flinched back. You’d think he was actually disgusted with her—oh, nope, there it was—the hard press of his arousal at the center of her core. She laughed softly. He was into it, he just pretended not to be. When his body heat brought the scent of spiced citrus, she went weak.
“You know,” she whispered close to his ear. “I would have done this for free.”
The chair groaned under his grip. He let go as the armrests began to crack.
“You should really come to one of my classes. I can help you with that. Meditation does wonders for self-control.”
Uncertainty crossed his expression in a wave.
She trailed a finger down his cheek to his strong jaw. God, she loved the look of him. So serious and intense and so much fun to play with. He stiffened under her touch, muscles turning rock hard. She trailed down the vein in his neck, traced his shoulder over the jacket, his bicep, then found the vein over his wrist until she ran down that big powerful hand of his. His hand would completely cover her face. He could crush her without a second thought, just like the chair. The danger of toying with him gave her a thrill, and suddenly her movements turned sultry, heavy, and full of promise.
She whispered huskily, “Don’t feel bad, darling. It happens to the best of us.”
He gripped her tightly by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length.
What are you doing here?he mouthed the words.
“I work here, silly.”
She tried grinding on him, but his eyes sparked with somethingnotdesire. Rage. And then he began to talk with no sound, so fast she could only stop and stare, trying to catch the words on his lips.
“Whoa. Hold up, buddy.” He spoke too fast, but she got the gist of it. She climbed from his lap and stood in front of him, with her back to the camera, adjusting the feather fascinator on her head. “You don’t get to judge me for this, Wyatt. You don’t know me well enough. It was the only way I could protect my family. Not all of us have the strength of ten big muscly men. Dimitri threatened to bring Roksana in if I didn’t continue to work here.”
Tears burned the back of her eyelids and she had to take a moment. Dimitri had threatened worse.
How dare Wyatt… She took a breath, swallowed and shook off the insult. In a flash, she was The Duchess again and had it together. Like nothing had happened, she began to slowly sway, getting back into the rhythm of the jazz music. She still had a job to do, and her shift had barely started.
Suddenly, she found herself against a wall, wedged by a man with furious eyes.
Are you working for them?
“Working for who? Dimitri? You already know that.”
No.He shoved her and it hurt.The Syndicate.At least she thought he mouthed that, but it didn’t make sense.
“You’re hurting me, Wyatt.”
But he wouldn’t ease off. The ferocity of his gaze told her there was more to his behavior, that there was an untold story behind those demanding blue orbs of pain. But his grip on her shoulders wouldn’t relax.
“Wyatt. You’re holding me too tight. Please let go.”
As though it were the hardest thing to do, he peeled his fingers from her shoulders. Ouch. His fingers were made from stone. She rubbed her shoulders, crossing her chest, covering her nudity.
I’m sorry,he signed, looking genuinely apologetic.
Whoever this Syndicate was, they’d done a number on him.
“Wyatt, I don’t know who the Syndicate is, if that’s what you said. I’m just trying to keep these people away from my family. ‘These’meaning the ones in this very building.”
Something passed behind his eyes—a revelation perhaps—because he shrugged out of his jacket and slung it around her shoulders, enshrouding her in the enormous thing. It was warm, and despite her common sense, she wanted to wrap it tighter, but any minute someone would knock on the door and warn her to keep dancing.
“I should be working,” she mumbled.
He shook his head vehemently.Not here.With the efficiency of a physician, he briskly put her hands through the sleeves and buttoned her up, but then heat flared in his eyes. He arched an eyebrow, pointed at her breasts and then tapped his chest a few times.Mine.
She snorted. Possessive much? She was about to say that the only person her breasts belonged to was herself, but then she picked up on something. His actions had looked suspiciously like sign language. “Has Alek been teaching you to sign?”
