Kidnapped by the Billionaire Page 11

  Perhaps he should have. He could have lifted her up against the door of the fitting room and unzipped his jeans, let her sink down on his cock, holding her there while he emptied himself of this ridiculous craving.

  “I wouldn’t mind…”

  Christ, that husky voice, the spark of pure blue in her eyes as she’d stared at him.… She’d wanted him too. But he’d known in that instant he couldn’t do it. It was hard enough managing his own hunger let alone hers, and bringing them together would be madness.

  It would negate the whole of the last seven years.

  Movement near the fitting rooms caught his attention, and he turned to see Violet coming toward him, holding the empty hangers in her hands.

  She wore a pair of tight-fitting black leather pants, a silky-looking green top, and a black leather bike jacket. It was such a change from her normal hippie-looking outfits that he couldn’t help staring at her. Gone was the free spirit in the chiming jewelry and brightly colored silk skirts. In her place was a tough biker chick with a guarded, wary expression.

  He wasn’t sure if that was an improvement or not.

  Stopping by the counter, she handed him the hangers and the tags she’d obviously removed from the clothes. “Here. You’ll need these.”

  He took them from her and pulled out his wallet, adding up the prices then extracting some cash and dumping it on the counter. The sales assistant clearly had the phone attached to her ear because she didn’t stop talking, but he wasn’t waiting. He didn’t need the change anyway.

  Grabbing Violet’s arm again, he tucked her in close as they headed out of the store.

  The walk back to the apartment was far more tense and she made no effort to talk to him, which he appreciated. It was hard enough trying to keep his mind on what he was supposed to be doing and not on the way the smell of her leather jacket combined with her own scent to make something new and utterly sensual.

  Fuck, this was ridiculous. With any luck Jericho would be getting in contact real soon and then she wouldn’t be his problem anymore.

  They came to a stop at an intersection, waiting for the signal. His building was just up ahead and he was running over in his head his plans for when Jericho got in contact, where he was going to get the man to meet him, and how that was all going to play out.

  Then Violet jerked suddenly away from him.

  Because he was a little distracted, his reaction wasn’t quite what it should have been, his fingers closing around her arm just a fraction too late.

  He cursed viciously, but she was already running, flinging herself across the street heedless of the traffic, ignoring the sounds of car horns as she dodged them. And for a second he found himself watching in amazement, because shit, the gall of the woman. She just never gave up, did she?

  Then he was running himself, plunging into the crowded mass of vehicles after her. Tires squealed, more horns sounding, the shouts of drivers echoing as he slid over the hood of one car then dodged a motorcycle. He ignored all of them, his attention fixed on a small figure in black running for her life down the sidewalk.

  She hadn’t a chance of course. He was stronger and faster, and although fear must have given her wings, his anger was rocket fuel. She was his only chance to get to Jericho, and he was not letting her get away.

  The distance between them decreased by the second, and when she turned her head to look behind her it decreased even more as she slowed. She whipped her head back around and tried to put on a burst of speed, but even that wasn’t going to save her.

  He wasn’t even near to being winded.

  There weren’t a lot of people around, but even so he had to catch her quickly in case someone decided to take action and call the cops. Which would be the last fucking thing he needed.

  He ran faster, closing the distance.

  Violet was heading toward a group of people standing on the sidewalk up ahead chatting, but she must have realized she wasn’t going to reach them in time, because she suddenly changed direction, darting down what looked like an alley way between two buildings.

  Bad idea.

  He reached the alley seconds later, racing after the dark figure fleeing down it.

  Catching her at the halfway point, Elijah reached out and grabbed her, hauling her around then pushing her up against the rough brick of one of the buildings bordering the alley.

  She struggled at first, pushing against him, and then, when he didn’t move, she went still, lifting her chin and staring up at him. She was panting, her skin flushed pink with exertion, her blue-green eyes glittering. Fear flickered there, unmistakable. Yet not as much as he’d thought. In fact, she looked more angry than anything else.

  Christ. This woman.

  “What the fuck was that?” He put a hand on her shoulder and pinned her against the wall. “You do that again and I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”

  She stared at him, the fear disappearing, replaced by a kind of determined defiance. Then, shockingly, her mouth curved and she gave a breathless laugh. “Oh, come on. I had to try, right?”

  And for some reason he couldn’t possibly fathom, her laughter made a surge of intense rage go through him. He was sick of her bravado. Sick of her defiance. This determination to push him, test him. This complete refusal to be cowed.

  She had to stop. She had to learn he was somone to be feared. Not some weak little fuck in a suit who could be manipulated into doing whatever she wanted.

  She wanted to push him? Consider him pushed.

  “You think this is a game?” He leaned in, so close they were almost nose to nose. “Well, do you, Violet? You think that when I catch you, it’s your turn to chase me?”

  Her smile became twisted and he could see the rage begin to flicker again in the turquoise depths of her eyes. Rage and fear, they always went hand in hand. So she was scared and she hated it, and she didn’t want him to see it. Well, fuck, he could work with that.

  “Of course this is a game,” she said, a sneer in her voice. “It’s called outwit the big dumb criminal.” Her breath was coming in rushing bursts—he could hear it despite the noise of the traffic coming from the street. “Am I winning yet?”

  “No.” He stepped closer, forcing her harder against the wall with his body, physically intimidating her. “You don’t get to win. You don’t get to do anything but shut the fuck up and do as you’re told.”

  Even now, even when he was looming over her and his anger had to be scaring her, she had that little chin of hers lifted. And there was something other than anger gleaming in her eyes. A spark of … Jesus. Was that excitement?

  “Or what?” Violet demanded. “You keep telling me about all this stuff you’re going to do—”

  He reached out with his other hand, took her jaw in a hard grip, cutting off the stream of words. “I keep telling you that you should be afraid,” he said, coating each word with ice. “But you don’t listen. Perhaps you’ll listen now.”

  Her eyes had gone wide and for some reason her gaze had dropped to his mouth. An unwanted physical awareness began to seep through him. Of how soft her skin felt against his fingers and how red her lips were. How she’d trembled when he’d put a hand to her throat back in the store.… She’d wanted him. Except she had no idea what she was asking for.

  So? Show her. Scare the shit out of her.

  Elijah tightened his grip on her jaw just a little, tilting her head back.

  Then he covered her mouth with his.

  * * *

  She’d known it was going to happen. From the moment he’d taken her jaw in his hand, his fingers pressing against her skin, she’d known. Something about the fury in his eyes, about the way he’d looked at her. Intense, focused. As if she was the only thing in the world he was aware of.

  Her heart was slamming hard against her ribs, her breathing out of control and not just from her desperate getaway sprint. She didn’t understand why running from him had had wild sparks of excitement scattering through her, not when l
ogic told her she should be terrified.

  Sure, she had been scared and yes, angry too, especially when he’d caught her.

  But a deep part of her had known she’d never be able to escape him. And that same deep part had wanted her to run anyway, to have him chase her.

  So he had. He’d taken off after her in a wild hunt, just as his surname promised.

  She hadn’t known till he’d caught her how much she’d wanted to be caught, and she’d known that was wrong. How weird it was to feel thrilled that someone had come after her, had chased her, run her down, because they didn’t want her to get away from them.

  No one in her life had ever come after her. No one had ever chased her.

  Which probably only went to show how fucked up she was. Because it wasn’t as if Elijah wanted her for anything more than bait.

  But right in this moment, Violet didn’t care. His mouth was on hers and he was kissing her, and it was raw and passionate and so hot she was going to go up in flames.

  She wanted this. Despite everything she knew about herself, despite everything she was afraid of, she wanted this so badly. And she wanted him to take it so she didn’t have to make the decision herself.

  He kissed her the way he’d run her down, conquering her, taking her. His tongue pushed deep into her mouth, tipping her head back against the brick wall behind her, allowing her no space to pull away or deny him. And then there was nothing but heat, the taste of him, earthy and dark, with a kick of alcohol like black coffee laced with scotch.

  She groaned, unable to help herself, hunger flooding through her. There was just something about the ice in his voice and the heat of his mouth, with the way he was holding her jaw, not painfully tight yet firm. Keeping her in place as he devoured her.

  The contrasts of him made her shiver with delight. Because something was shattering that cold, merciless exterior of his, and letting the heat of the man beneath it show through. Something was getting to him, changing him, and she thought that something might be her.

  It was thrilling. Powerful. Finally, after all these years, she actually reached someone.

  Her fingers pressed up against the granite-hard wall of his chest, the cotton of his long-sleeved shirt so warm. She loved the feel of him, the leashed strength and power beneath her palms. The flex and release of hard muscle. And she loved, too, how helpless she felt next to him, even though she had no idea why that was. Probably something to do with control, but she couldn’t really think about that right now. Not when he released her jaw, running his hands behind her head to curl into the short spikes of her hair, holding onto them tight, pulling her head back even further.

  Kissing her harder.

  Her hands slipped down his chest, finding their way underneath the hem of his shirt and finding smooth, fever-hot skin beneath it.

  Elijah made a sound in his throat, harsh and raw, and suddenly she was pinned to the wall by the length of his body, one powerful thigh thrust between hers, pressing the seam of her pants hard against the most sensitive part of her.

  She shuddered, her hips flexing helplessly against him as he tore his mouth from hers and kissed along her jaw and down her throat. There were teeth against her skin, grazing, a sharp pain as he nipped her. But that didn’t matter. The pain was all part of it. A great, dark bonfire of sensation that she wanted to burn in.

  This is a really bad idea. You weren’t supposed to let yourself go like this.

  No, she wasn’t, and yet she couldn’t remember why.

  Was it so wrong to want to be touched? To be kissed? Was it so wrong to be wanted by someone, even if it was by the man who’d captured her at gunpoint?

  No one had come after her but him. No one had wanted her but him.

  She wasn’t going to give that up, not yet.

  “You should be afraid of me, princess.” His voice, rough and gritty near her ear, his breath warm against the side of her neck. “Why aren’t you afraid?”

  Her hands slid up over the hard surface of his stomach, feeling every dip, every hollow. Reading the sharp definition of his muscles like a blind woman reading Braille. “Because you want me,” she murmured thickly. “Because you won’t hurt me. You talk big, Elijah, but you’re not as cold as you like to make out.”

  The fingers curled in her hair tightened, his mouth nuzzling her throat. “You shouldn’t say those things. Don’t you know that only makes me want to show you why you’re wrong?”

  “Do it.” She was panting because the pressure of his thigh between hers was driving her insane. She couldn’t stop herself from rocking against it, seeking more friction, more pressure. “I told you before I wanted it.”

  “Fuck.” The word sighed against her skin and she shivered as his free hand slid down over the front of her top, cupping her breast, his thumb brushing over the hard outline of her nipple. “You’ve got no idea what you’re even asking for.”

  Well, maybe she didn’t. Then again she wasn’t stupid. “Perhaps I’m not the one who’s afraid. Perhaps it’s you.”

  His hand on her breast shifted, her nipple caught between his thumb and forefinger. And a gasp tore from her throat as he pinched her. Hard.

  “And what would you know about me, you delicious little bitch?”

  Such icy words said in a cold, cold voice. They made her shiver with delight. Because threading each of those words was a heat that gleamed like a strand of gold through a coal seam.

  He was trying to distance her with them, maybe. Yet when she looked up into his face and met his dark eyes, it wasn’t distance she saw there. Or snow and ice. She could have burst into flame from one look alone.

  “Show me then,” she whispered, unable to look away. “Show me what I should be afraid of.”

  He stared at her, his gaze sharp and bright as obsidian, and a fleeting doubt streaked through her mind. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that after all.

  But it was too late. Because suddenly he bent and his mouth was on hers again, ravaging, taking. A hard, desperate kiss that had her hands sliding around his waist and up his back, her fingers digging into all that hot skin and hard muscle, holding on tight as he devoured her like a starving man devouring the first meal he’d had in years.

  Then he lifted his head again, letting go of her hair and her breast, his fingers moving to the waistband of her pants and pushing them down with a short, sharp movement, taking her panties with them.

  You’re really going to let him do this? Screw you in an alleyway in the middle of the day? This is what your desperation will lead you to do …

  God, who the hell cared about her desperation and what she was doing? Did it really matter? She was twenty-six and she’d been alone a long time, starved for contact, for touch. For a connection in some way to one other person. Her father was a monster, her mother a society ice queen, and her beloved brother, the only deep connection she’d ever had, was gone, disappeared.

  Now this was all she had. And she didn’t care whether that made her so desperate she’d let this man screw her up against a wall in the middle of the day. She didn’t care about any of it.

  So she ignored the voice in her head. She ignored everything. The people moving past the entrance to the alley, the music coming from one of the windows above her head, the sirens and car horns. The roar of the city.

  There was only one thing that mattered and that was him and what he was going to do.

  The cold air on her skin raised goose bumps everywhere and she was shaking as he put his hands on her waist and turned her around so her back was to him.

  “Hands on the wall,” he ordered.

  She didn’t even think about not obeying, the brick rough beneath her palms as she did as she was told. She couldn’t get a breath, her heartbeat roaring in her head like a hurricane.

  His arm slid around her waist, holding her, and there was heat against her back. Her breath sawed in and out, little chills running up and down her spine.

  She could hear the sound of a zipper and she had t
o close her eyes, bite down hard on her lip because she didn’t know what sounds were going to come out of her mouth and she was half afraid of begging or pleading, or moaning with hunger. She might even cry, because for some reason this was agony. The combination of visceral need and anticipation, of not being able to see what he was doing. Not being able to know …

  “Elijah.” His name was a raw whisper as she turned her head, her cheek against the brick. “I—”

  His free hand slid down her stomach, his fingers pushing through the damp curls between her thighs, finding and circling her clit, cutting her words off dead. The breath left her in a sharp exhalation and her hips jerked, pleasure streaking through her like lightning. “Oh … God…”

  She’d used her own hand like this some nights, when she’d been lonely and craving something she didn’t have a name for, bringing herself some pleasure. But her own touch had never been this hard, this ruthless. His thumb pressed down hard on her clit while he slid a finger inside her, tearing a groan from her and making her legs tremble. This pleasure wasn’t the slow build she was used to. This was sudden and raw, an electric shock from a hundred-volt cable.

  Barely able to process that touch, she nearly groaned again when heat burned along the length of her spine as he pressed her against the wall, his fingers suddenly spreading her sex wide, the head of his cock pushing against her entrance. Then he flexed his hips, thrusting hard and deep without any kind of hesitation at all, impaling her.

  A hoarse little scream tore from her throat, because although she’d been expecting pain, she hadn’t expected that raw pleasure to get even sharper. Or that the combination of both should be so intense, so vicious. That he’d feel so big and that he didn’t stop. He drew back, then thrust again, pushing deep, shoving her against the bricks in front of her. One arm was still curled around her waist, his other hand between her thighs, his fingers circling and stroking her clit with merciless expertise, intensifying the pleasure with every stroke.

  Words came out of her mouth, words she barely heard, and she didn’t know whether it was a plea to stop or a plea to continue. “Elijah … please … Oh God … please…”