Carnal Urges

2

We do the staring thing again. I’ll go blind before I’ll blink first. It’s a standoff, a silent push-pull with neither of us giving an inch, until finally, a muscle flexes in his jaw. Then he exhales and grudgingly releases my wrist.

Ha. Get used to losing, gangster. I smile at him and say pleasantly, “Thank you.”

He’s wearing the same look my older brother used to wear when we were kids and he was about to deck me for being annoying. Naturally, it makes me smile wider.

Men say they love a strong woman, right up until they meet one.

I fold my hands in my lap and wait for him to control his temper. He sits back in his chair, straightens his tie, grinds his molars for a while, then says, “Here are the rules.”

Rules. For me? Hilarious. But I’m pretending to be cooperative, so I sit patiently and listen instead of laughing in his face.

“One: I don’t tolerate disobedience. If I give you an order, you follow it.”

Magic Eight Ball says: outlook not so good.

“Two: you don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.”

In what universe is that happening? Not this one.

“Three: I’m not Kieran. If you hit me, I hit back.” His blue eyes glitter. His voice drops. “And it will hurt.”

He’s trying to scare me into obedience. That tactic never worked for my father, and it won’t work for him. My voice drips with disdain. “What a gentleman.”

“You lasses are the ones who’re always crying about equal treatment. Except when it’s inconvenient.”

He’s a first-class asshole, but also right. If I can’t take it, I shouldn’t dish it out.

Except I can take it and I can dish it out. Sooner or later, he’ll find out exactly how well.

I didn’t spend the last ten years sweating my ass off in self-defense classes so I could burst into tears at a threat from some random Irish gangster.

After a while when he doesn’t continue, I say, “Are there more?”

He deadpans, “I figured three would be all your damaged brain could handle.”

Boy, this one could really charm the birds right out of the trees. “So thoughtful.”

“Like you said. I’m a gentleman.”

He stands. Towering over me at his full height, he’s suddenly imposing. I lean back and stare up at him, unsure what he’s going to do next.

He looks satisfied by my alarmed expression. “The loo is at the back of the plane. You have two minutes. If you’re not out by then, I’ll break down the door.”

“Why? Do you think I’ll try to escape through the toilet?”

His lashes lower. I can tell he’s annoyed again by the slow, aggravated breath he draws. He says softly, “Careful, lass. Your boyfriend Stavros might tolerate mouthy women, but I don’t.”

I suppose he mentioned Stavros to clue me in that he knows things about me, that he’s done his homework on his captive, but it doesn’t surprise me. Any kidnapper worth his salt would do the same.

But he’s got one important fact wrong, and I’m a stickler for accuracy on this particular topic. “Stavros isn’t my boyfriend.”

Declan gives me the arched eyebrow again, wry and disdainful. “Excuse me?”

“I said he’s not my boyfriend. I don’t keep boyfriends.”

“Due to your exhausting need to run your mouth, no doubt.”

His testicles are at about eye level, but I resist the urge to acquaint them with my fist. There’s always later.

“No, I meant that I don’t keep them, like the way you keep chickens. Or how a man keeps a mistress. I don’t have the patience for boyfriends. They’re too high-maintenance. Way more trouble than they’re worth.”

He stares down at me with an expressionless face, but his eyes are doing something interesting. I can almost see the wheels turning inside his head.

“So you broke up.”

“Are you even listening? He was never my ‘boyfriend.’ I don’t do boyfriends.”

His smile is faintly evil. “Good. Then I won’t have to deal with him riding in on his white horse to try to rescue you.”

I laugh at the mental image of Stavros on a horse. He’s terrified of animals. “Oh, he’ll totally try to rescue me.”

When Declan narrows his eyes, I add, “If you could not hurt him, that would be great. I’d feel really guilty if he got hurt on my account.”

The deafening silence that follows calls for an explanation. “I mean, of course you have to do your gangster thing, but Stavros is actually a nice guy. It’s not his fault he’ll try to rescue me. He won’t be able to help himself.”

“And why is that?”

“I told you. I’m charming. He was a goner from the day we met.”

I have never been looked at the way Declan is looking at me right now. If an alien spacecraft landed on top of the plane and sucked us inside with a tractor beam, he couldn’t look more confounded.

I have to admit it’s pretty satisfying.

The sense of satisfaction evaporates when he wraps his big hands around my upper arms and hauls me upright.

He leans close to my face and says from between gritted teeth, “You’re about as charming as herpes. Now go take a piss.”

He pushes me away, drags his hands through his hair, and mutters a curse under his breath.

If the stick stuck up this guy’s ass were any bigger, he’d be a tree.

I head toward the back of the plane, passing more plush leather sofas and chairs. The décor is elegant and understated, everything done in shades of champagne and gold. All the windows have little curtains drawn across them. The carpeting is soft and luxurious under my bare feet. It’s like a miniature penthouse…complete with security.

Six buff gangsters in black suits glower at me as I approach.