Beautifully Cruel

41

Then he’s on me, closing the distance between us before I can open my eyes. He pulls me against his body and wraps his strong arms around my chest, holding me tight.

“Aye, it’s f*****g insane,” he says hotly into my ear, pinning me against him. “And it’s exactly what we both need.”

He pulls my head back with his hand fisted in my hair and kisses me. It’s deep, hot, and desperate, and goes on and on until I twist my head away, gasping.

I push at his chest, but it’s useless. He’s too strong. He won’t let me go. Instead, he picks me up in his arms and heads for the back door.

“Liam, put me down!”

“Don’t bother fighting me. It’s too late for that.”

My mind sounds a panic bell. My pulse doubles. I cry, “Where are you taking me?” He growls, “Home to bed.”

A fleet of black SUVs awaits in the dark alley behind the restaurant, steam billowing from their tailpipes. Liam opens the back door of one of them, hustles me inside, and buckles me in.

“Stay,” he orders. Then he climbs in beside me and we pull away.

The bodyguard with the icy blue eyes who told me to be careful the night I got out of the hospital is behind the wheel. He glances at me in the rearview mirror. His expression is less hostile than last time. In fact, he almost looks worried for me.

It’s small comfort.

We speed off into the night. I can’t catch my breath. I’m shaking all over. When we go over a bump in the road and I gasp, Liam reaches out and grasps my wrist. He holds it tightly, as if he’s expecting me to leap out of the car the moment we pause at a stoplight.

I try to pick through a thousand chaotic thoughts to find something to say, but it’s like trying to catch the wind.

Looking out the window, I whisper, “You’re back a week early.”

His voice is low and rough. “I couldn’t stay away any longer.”

Oh god. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I own this town.”

He leaves it at that, but from that simple statement, I understand that he can find anyone he likes, anytime he likes, and there’s nothing we mere mortals can do about it.

Panicking, I try to catch my breath. Taking deep breaths doesn’t help. Neither does Liam’s grip on my wrist, which remains steady for the duration of the drive. I stare straight ahead, pulse pounding, feeling his burning gaze on my face.

When we get into the heart of the city, the driver turns into the underground parking garage of a modern black glass high-rise. It stretches so far into the sky, I can’t see the top. We park in front of a bank of private elevators flanked by two men in black suits, and Liam exits the car.

I sit still, breathing raggedly, until he comes around to my side, opens the door, and unbuckles the seat belt.

He grasps my upper arm, helps me out, and strides to the elevators with his fingers curled possessively into my flesh. One of the suits pressed the call button when we pulled in, so the elevator doors are opening as we walk up.

When we’re alone inside the elevator and the doors slide shut behind us, Liam turns to me and grabs me in a rough embrace. Then he crushes his mouth to mine.

He kisses me like his life depends on it. The way Diego said he looked at me: like he’ll die if he doesn’t. His mouth is hot and demanding, and I’m helpless to resist.

No—I’m not helpless.

Truth be told, now that the shock is wearing off, I’m spitting mad.

I’m not a wilting flower, or a weakling, or a damn damsel in distress. I’m the daughter of an ironwilled Southern woman who turns grown men into frightened children when she gets angry. I’ve got her fire in my veins, her pride and self-respect, and I won’t be carted off like a bag of groceries and turned to mindless mush by a bossy Irish mobster, no matter how much I like the way he kisses.

I push Liam away and slap him across the face.

He jerks back, breathing hard, and stares down at me with wild, glittering eyes.

I say, “Do you really think I’m going to fall into bed with you after you just crashed my celebration dinner, manhandled my friend, bragged about being some kind of mafia kingpin, and threw me into your car like a piece of luggage?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Not my plan.”

He glowers at me. The elevator stops. The doors slide open. He says darkly, “We’ll see.”

Then he picks me up in his arms again and walks me inside his home.

It’s the penthouse, huge, with floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase the glittering Boston skyline far below. Liam carries me through the apartment without a word. Automatic lights blink on, lighting the space in a muted glow. His footsteps echo off the marble floor as I cling to his shoulders, my pulse racing.

“Put me down, Liam.”

“In a minute.”

We enter a bedroom larger than my entire apartment. More lights flick on. The room is huge, with a fireplace at one end and a king size bed at the other. A sofa and chairs are clustered into a sitting area near one of the windows. A wet bar displays a variety of cut crystal bottles behind glass. The space is masculine and sophisticated, and decorated entirely in shades of gray and black. Liam heads straight for the bed.

“Liam, I’m not—”

“Quiet.”

He takes us down to the black silk duvet and settles his big heavy body over mine with his wolf’s hungry growl. He pins my wrists over my head and takes my mouth again without speaking a word, flexing his hips into mine so I feel every inch of his arousal.