Page 46 of Betrothed
The entire situation was crazy. I couldn’t dream of a more ridiculous storyline in my life.
Another hard smack of the brush brought me back and as soon as I shifted on his lap, I realized he was in the same position as I was. He was fully aroused. Unacceptable. I wanted nothing to do with his life. I saved lives.
He destroyed them.
We weren’t a match made in heaven.
The ache was intense, pain coursing across my sit spots with excessive heat building.
When he stopped smacking my bottom, I took several gasping breaths. I wanted to scream at him to let me go, but my mouth was gagged. Gagged. I couldn’t believe what he’d done and continued to do to me.
He slowed his pace but continued, still moving from one side to the other, leaving me spent and aching all over.
His heavy sigh was the only indication he was thinking about stopping. After tossing the brush, he placed his palm on the small of my back for a few seconds before sliding his hand under my shirt and caressing my skin.
My pulse began to slow, the pain from before subsiding.
“This could have been much easier.” His statement was made as if saddened by finding it necessary to do the unthinkable. Although if I had to guess, I’d assume he’d done much worse than dragging a bound woman across his lap and spanking her into submission. That’s what I wanted him to think. That I’d surrendered. That I’d lost the will to fight.
When I didn’t move even a muscle, he seemed more frustrated by my response than before. There was a level of expertise in the game of flirtation that few achieved. We’d both played well while on the plane, keeping our distance emotionally and mentally while allowing for a physical connection.
What we’d experienced before was something else entirely, a pure connection that transcended the usual torment of first through third dates. Maybe he was right in that the spell of him being a gentleman, a fantasy that I’d carried with me had been tossed aside by his depravity.
I had to face facts. Being a killer meant he wasn’t inclined to taking hostages for sport.
He eased me off his lap and onto my feet, removing the gag then gripping both my arms while studying me in a perplexed way. He had no real understanding of how to deal with me.
My presence had been unwanted, a shock to his system.
Especially since I’d given him so much trouble.
His frustration was evident in his pinched face, a clenched jaw that could cut through stone. I could be wildly amused had it not been for knowing he’d killed someone. He also winced every time he moved his injured shoulder. While doing his best to hide the pain, as a doctor I knew all the signs. The wound was deep and as a physician, I was concerned.
As a woman being held hostage, I could only hope the injury would become infected. He brought out the worst in me. “You need to be careful or you’ll disturb your stitches.”
“I’ve been through much worse. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you cared.”
“Then you’d be wrong.”
As he locked eyes with mine, his were filled with the same frustration I’d felt since realizing whose footsteps I’d heard. “A good decision.”
Even after the last few hours, I was struck by his beauty, the aristocratic features that could hold any woman’s attention. In studying him without most of his clothes, I’d been struck by the number of previous injuries, scars telling a story more colorful than any words could do.
I sensed he didn’t like the tone of my glare, finally looking away and whatever he’d muttered in Russian was a clear indication of just how furious I could make him. An emotion I’d use to my advantage. As before, when he had wrapped his fingers around the elastic of my thong, I stiffened. The thought of him touching me was…
Unable to handle the reality of how I was feeling, I looked away. The ugly truth was that his touch had created a strong feeling of arousal that I could sense he was well aware of. What a terrible position to be in.
A nightmare with no end in sight.
I was certain he was finished with tormenting me and himself, yet the pull we shared, the electricity pounding through us both was increasingly difficult to ignore.
He had one hand stroking my arm almost absently, as someone would do while enjoying a movie or reading a book. A connection that couldn’t be denied even with both of us engaged in something other than each other.
I was completely torn by the way I felt about him, the need that so far I’d been unable to shove aside. He was fighting with the same emotions, the intimate desires we’d both embraced when we were nothing but two strangers enjoying each other’s company.
“I don’t want to find a further need to punish you, Vivian. So please do me a favor and stop fighting me.”
My entire body trembled from his touch alone.
