Page 24 of Forbidden Want

“What did he say?”

“You’re to stay put,” he said. “Upstairs.”

And she doubted the blondes would be joining them in bed.

Upstairs.

Did he want them alone or to cut off her escape routes?

TEN

SHE DIDN’T WANT to sleep but couldn’t sit still. Strat was on a stool, back to the bar, twisting left to right, following her progress, pacing up and down the living room.

Hundreds of people on the floor below danced their time away without a care in the world. Damn did she envy them.

She’d thought getting the info was difficult. That telling Lachlan was stressful. Those were nothing to how she worried in the silence.

Until Connel walked in, until she laid eyes on him, she wouldn’t relax. Anything could happen. What if Lachlan got there quickly? Had the McDade posse been in the hotel already? She didn’t want them arrested on her tip.

A door slammed and she stopped, fixated on the stairs.

Connel came jogging into view.

Without even looking at her, he strode across the room. “Out,” he said to Strat as he rounded the bar.

Strat looked at her as he rose. If she asked him to stay, he would. With a slight nod, she gave him the silent go. Connel was pissed. No doubt. He might kick her out, but he wouldn’t hurt her.

Her bodyguard disappeared down the stairs.

Connel slammed a glass on the counter and poured out some liquor.

“You’re pissed,” she said, going to the bar. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tell him. He called and was trying to find—this was about saving lives.” He drank. “Evander’s bringing women into the city. Trafficking women. He’s the cop’s only hope of finding them. They have to question him, to save these women. To free them, the cops have to find them.”

The glass hit the bar again. Hard. His eyes tapered, their depth darkening, zeroing in on her.

His hand disappeared into his inside pocket and then a cellphone was at his ear. “Manzani’s Russian dolls, where are they?” He paused, hung up, and dropped the phone by his drink. “Amber Corner, Rector Base, third floor.”

Damn. How had he…? Maybe she should’ve thought about asking him.

“Just like that you can…” On an exhale, she got it. “You know things.”

“I know things,” he said and drank the last of the liquor.

After slamming the glass down, he came around to snatch her wrist and dragged her to the bedroom. He swung her around, throwing her down on the bed.

In her recovery, sweeping her hair from her face, he whipped his belt from its loops to snap it loud. The sound cracked in her gut, hollowing her out to make way for need.

“Is this how we argue?” she asked, rising on her knees.

“No arguing. We have a deal. You do what you’re told,” he said, throwing the belt aside to unbutton his shirt. “Lose it.”

“What?”

“Everything.”

Moisture rushed her throat; need overtook caution. Do as she was told. That was the deal, and, fuck, if she didn’t love being reminded. Unzipping, she lost her dress and bra as she walked down the bed on her knees.

This wasn’t like any other fight with a partner. Usually, she’d expect yelling. Anger. Sneers, insults, and backbiting. Where was the fear? The regret? Resentment, contrition, none of her emotions were negative, despite him vibrating with disapproval.

---