“Worse?”
I bite my bottom lip, hoping I don’t anger him. “If you were his enemy, I wasn’t sure what you might do to me thinking you were hurting him.” The possibilities are too horrific to even think about.
I take a risk and go stand in front of Tommy, my gaze hesitantly lifting to his. “I’m not his to give away. Please don’t tell him where I am. If you want me to leave, I’ll go. No one ever has to know I was here—”
Tommy’s hand gently but firmly fists in the back of my hair, cutting off my plea. His grip is secure but not painful, as though his purpose is purely to claim my attention. His eyes glint with a primal savagery I’ve never seen before, and I can’t make sense of it because he doesn’t know me well enough to elicit such emotion, does he?
“Is there someone else?” His snarled question catches me off guard.
“What do you mean? Someone else after me?”
“No, is there a man in your life? Is there … someone … else?” He says each word as if it tastes worse than the one before.
“No. I’m not seeing anyone.” I’m so confused as to what that has to do with anything.
“Look at me,” he demands, waiting to continue until my searching gaze meets his. “You’re right. You can’t be his to give away if you’re already mine.”
“What?” It’s more of a shocked exhale than an actual question. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re going to marry me.”
Words escape me.
He can’t be serious. I can’t marry him. Biba would be furious, and I know what happens when Biba is angry. And that’s not even taking into account that I hardly know Tommy. “No, I … I can’t do that.”
His hands cup either side of my face before he brings his lips close to mine but not to kiss me. The intoxicating uncertainty of what he might do next has me entranced. My breathing quickens to shallow pants as he slowly nips my bottom lip between his teeth, then allows his tongue to drift languidly over the heated flesh. My core warms and pulses with need so intensely that my body instinctively sways toward his.
“You can, and you will, and not just for your protection.” His hand slips under my shirt, then down inside my shorts and beneath my panties. He keeps me rooted in place with the intensity of his stare. Not that I want to flee. His touch feels incredible as he cups my sex, his thick middle finger easing itself deep inside me.
I gasp for air, my hands clinging to his shirt for support.
“You’ll agree to be mine because that’s what your body wants.” His finger glides in and out of me a couple of times before he retracts the hand and brings it up between us, displaying the shameful degree of arousal coating his finger. Eyes locked on mine, he inserts the finger into his mouth and sucks it clean.
It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My lips part as I watch him, enthralled.
“Want to know what you taste like, little thief?” His voice is worn leather and the smoldering embers of a fire. The scent and sound and texture invade my senses to demand my allegiance.
I nod because I have to. He wants me to say yes, and at that moment, I want to give him anything and everything he wants.
He brings his finger to my lips as though to give me a taste, then detours at the last second, his hand dropping to cuff my neck. He brings his lips a breath away from my ear and whispers, “Mine. You taste like mine, little thief.”
Oh, holy hell, I’m in trouble.
It’s the most combustible, delicious thing I’ve ever heard a man say, real or fictional. How does logic stand a chance when up against that sort of temptation?
What’s to say marrying him doesn’t make sense?
And that’s exactly why a man like Tommy is so dangerous. He’s everything I shouldn’t want and everything I desperately need.
“Being yours and getting married are two different things.” I try to carve my way through the haze of desire and think rationally, though I’m not sure I’ve accomplished my goal. I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say. I just know I need to think this through.
Tommy’s chin lifts the tiniest fraction. Is that an acknowledgment that I’m right, or a recoil out of irritation? I can’t tell. He’s too hard to read.
“Where Biba is concerned, there can’t be any wiggle room. You have to be mine in every way.” His voice has an edge. A wariness. Or is it a warning?
“What does that mean, Tommy?” Is he talking forever? Or does he mean for us to put on a convincing show? It seems so presumptive to think he’s pushing for a real marriage. He wouldn’t want that, would he?
“Everything, Danika. It means you bind yourself to me—give me every piece of yourself—and in return, I’ll give you your life back. As my wife, you’ll have not only my protection but the strength of the entire Moretti family as well.” His voice is cooland clinical, and the heat in his stare from seconds ago is now shuttered behind an impenetrable wall. “But what I’m offering is all or nothing. I’m not a man who deals in concessions. Think carefully before you make your choice, but remember, time is ticking.”
