Page 5 of Bad Moon Rising
If it didn’t get him moving, she’d somehow have to drag him out of this building.
She stared for a few extra heartbeats at the way his dark shirt clung to his pecs, outlining every muscle. Seems she was a sucker for muscles. And tattoos. Dark, complex tattooed lines and shapes peeked out of the top of his shirt, along with the right amount of sprinkled chest hair. She wondered if the designs stretched across one shoulder or both or maybe it simply traveled south… His lower belly was as sculpted as his upper chest.
Incredibly sexy.
His brows rose.
Caught staring. Her face scorched.
His piercing, light blue gaze trapped her in place, shooting a shiver down her spine. From just his frank expression, he communicated he wasn’t someone to fuck around. What you saw is what you got. Oddly, she liked that he might be like that.
Maybe she should switch tactics and appeal to his hero instinct.
Nope. He qualified as the antihero who’d be more likely to shove a knife in her gut.
Best to go with a straight shooter approach.
She lowered her voice and spoke directly into his ear again. “You’ve got to get out of here.”
Now she needed to convince him she wasn’t crazy, and to do what she’d asked.
He regarded the low dip of her top as if her breasts were a part of his decision. That pissed her off. But she forced another “nice” smile and whispered, “It’s important.”
She still had no clue of his decision.
He slid his hand around her waist and dragged her onto his lap. His skin had touched her arm. Yet, she didn’t get any death vision about him. What a relief, even if she didn’t understand why not. Thank God it didn’t happen with everyone.
She felt dwarfed next to him. The heat from his solid thighs distracted her. The smell of bourbon and something all him made her light-headed.Pheromones, her brain supplied. Whatever it was ignited awareness of everything about him—his strength, his ruggedness, and the potential for pleasure.
Out loud, he said, “Such a filthy mouth for one so exquisite.”
That voice—although not familiar, with its low bass, smoker-quality raspiness and British accent—resonated deep in her gut.
She was pretty sure “we must leave” and “it’s important” didn’t qualify as filthy. This was all show for those around the table. Why?
He drew her tight to him and laughed as if she entertained him.
Her stomach twisted, caught between the urge to pull him out of here before their countdown hit zero, and the instinct to play along.
The phone vibrated another tick-tock warning against her chest. If he didn’t start heading for an exit soon, she’d haul him upstairs.
She threw her arms around his neck, the soft dark hair at the back tickling her hand, and on the pretense of kissing him, whispered, “I will drag your ass out of here if you don’t start moving.”
He gave her a wicked once-over and announced to the table, “I’m out.”
The slick man she gauged to be of European origins seated across the table, the pot winner, assessed her with a dark, soulless glare. He cocked his head. A small smile teased his lips.
A bitter tang saturated her mouth. She’d cut out the asshole’s throat if he tried to touch her. Could she do that? A mental image of a blade she knew to be the “right” blade filled her mind. She knew how to do far more than balls strangulation, it seemed. Put badass offensive moves on her list of skills.
The grip around her waist tightened, forcing her attention.
He lifted her off his lap and rose. Tall and broad, he towered over her at what she guessed was at least six-foot-four, even though she wasn’t a shrimp, estimating herself close to five-ten. The picture on her phone hadn’t prepared her for the sheer power of him.
He locked her hand in a crushing grip, far from a light, suggestive hold. As they wove through the subbasement crowd, he never let go or eased up.
At the top of the stairs, back on the loud dance floor, he yanked her into a dark corner free of bodies and spun her, one hand still gripping hers and the other suddenly holding a knife tight against her neck. “How’d you find me? Are you bait to lure me out and kill me?”
The brief flare of hope that he might recognize her and help her fill in her memory gaps fizzled when he twisted the knife. The brutality in his eyes said death came easy to him. She’d be but another number on his hit list.
