Wrong Place, Wrong Man

Chapter 5

Close enough that I caught the faint scent of his cologne beneath something darker, tobacco perhaps, mixed with clean fabric and the trace of whatever he’d been drinking.
I forced myself not to step backwards.
His eyes moved over my face.
“You’re frightened.”
It wasn’t a question.
“No shit.”
One eyebrow moved slightly.
My heart was hammering.
I could feel it everywhere now, in my throat, beneath my ribs, even in the tips of my fingers.
But I held his gaze.
He tilted his head.
“Yet you’re not crying.”
“Would it help?”
“No.”
“Then that seems inefficient.”
That tiny movement appeared at the corner of his mouth again.
Not quite amusement.
But close.
“Interesting.”
“I get that a lot.”
“I doubt it.”
His voice had dropped slightly.
Something about that lower register made my stomach tighten for an entirely different reason, and I immediately resented my body for choosing now, of all possible moments, to remind me that I was standing inches away from an extraordinarily attractive man.
An extraordinarily attractive man who might kill me.
Priorities, Bonnie.
He studied me for another moment.
“Do you know what happens to witnesses?”
There it was.
The question I had been avoiding since the moment I’d seen the gun beneath that man’s jacket.
My mouth went dry.
“Yes.”
“What?”
I swallowed.
“You kill them.”
He said nothing.
The silence was answer enough.
Fear moved through me so intensely that my knees suddenly felt less reliable than they had a moment ago.
I hated that he could see it.
His gaze dropped briefly toward my hands.
They were trembling.
When his eyes returned to mine, something about his expression told me he’d noticed.
Of course he had.
“You understand your situation, then.”
“I understand that I had spectacularly bad luck tonight.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
He took another step toward me.
There was barely any space left between us now.
My body screamed at me to retreat.
My pride refused.
His eyes moved over my face with infuriating patience.
“Most people beg by now.”
“Maybe I’m saving it.”
“For when?”
“When I think it’ll work.”
Something flickered in his eyes.
“Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Think it would work.”
I looked at him.
Really looked at him.
The controlled expression. The expensive suit. The ink disappearing beneath immaculate white cuffs. The men around us who seemed unwilling to breathe too loudly without his permission.
“No.”
The answer came quietly.
His gaze sharpened.
“No?”
“I could beg.” My voice wasn’t as steady as I wanted it to be, but I refused to look away. “I could get on my knees. I could crawl over there, hold on to your legs and promise you anything you wanted.”
His eyes remained fixed on mine.
“I could probably offer you myself,” I continued. “But I doubt I’d be the first woman who’s tried that.”
The silence in the room changed.
Something heavier entered it.
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
When he looked back into my eyes, something had changed.
Not softened.
God, no.
If anything, he looked more dangerous.
“So no,” I said. “I’m not going to beg.”
“Pride.”
The word rolled slowly from his mouth.
I swallowed.
“It’s about the only thing I have left.”
He moved closer.
Too close.
My breath caught before I could stop it.
His eyes noticed that too.
Of course they did.
“Pride has very little value in a room like this, Bonnie.”
The way he said my name did something strange to it.
Low.
Unhurried.
Almost intimate.
I hated that as well.
“Maybe.” I lifted my chin. “But I’d rather die with it than spend my last five minutes boring you.”
This time I definitely saw it.
The faintest curve of his mouth.
And, God help me, my eyes dropped to it.
His lips.
That was a mistake.
A ridiculous, catastrophic mistake.
Because once I noticed them, I became aware of everything else. How close he was. The warmth of his body in the small space between us. The dark stubble along his jaw. The faint scent of tobacco on his clothes.
His mouth moved.
“You’re staring.”
My eyes snapped back to his.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
Heat climbed into my face.
He noticed.
His gaze became almost lazy.
“For a woman who may not leave this room alive, you seem remarkably interested in my mouth.”
Arrogant bastard.
Anger burned straight through my embarrassment.
“You think highly of yourself.”
“I don’t need to.”
His answer came so easily that I wanted to slap him.
Instead, I stepped closer.
It was impulsive.
Stupid.
Completely unnecessary.
Which meant, naturally, that I did it.
My hand closed around the front of his shirt and jacket, and before common sense had time to intervene, I pulled him toward me.
The room reacted instantly.
Movement erupted behind us.
A shoe against the floor.
The soft mechanical sound of something being drawn.
Lorenzo didn’t look away from me.
He simply raised one hand.
Everything stopped.
Just like that.
My fingers remained twisted in the expensive fabric at his chest.
His face was now inches from mine.
Much too close.
I had intended to prove a point.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t planned beyond that.
His eyes dropped to my hand.
Then slowly returned to my face.
“That,” he murmured, “was unwise.”
“Probably.”
“Yet you’re still doing it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Because I was angry.
Because I was terrified.
Because he was standing there calmly deciding whether I lived or died, and I needed to feel as though there was still one thing in this room I controlled.
I tightened my fingers around his collar.
“You said pride is worthless here.”
His gaze settled on my mouth again.
“I did.”
“Maybe it is.” My voice came out softer now. “But right now, it’s the only thing I have that still belongs to me. I’m not stronger than you. I don’t have a weapon. I don’t have powerful friends waiting outside, and I can’t make any of your men move unless you tell them to.”
His eyes returned to mine.
“But you don’t get this.”
“This?”
“Me begging.”
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Something in his expression shifted.
Not enough for me to name it.
Enough for me to feel it.
His hand closed around my wrist.
Firm.
Controlled.
He could have removed my hand easily.
He didn’t.
Instead, his thumb settled against the inside of my wrist, directly over my racing pulse.
The bastard could feel exactly how frightened I was.
His eyes changed.
“You’re shaking.”
“I never said I wasn’t scared.”
“No.”
His thumb moved once over my pulse.
“You didn’t.”
The touch should not have felt intimate.
It did.
I became painfully aware of how close our bodies were, of my fingers still tangled in his clothes and his hand wrapped around my wrist.
His gaze dropped again.
To my mouth.
Then his free hand rose.
I should have moved.
I didn’t.
The pad of his thumb touched my lower lip.
Barely.
A slow, deliberate stroke from one corner toward the centre.
My breath caught.
His eyes followed the movement.
Everything inside me went strangely quiet.
The room disappeared around us.
The men.
The guns.
The warehouse.
Even the fear seemed to blur at the edges.
All I could see was him.
His eyes.
His mouth.
Especially his mouth.
I wondered what it would feel like.
The thought arrived without permission.
Warm?
Hard?
Would he kiss the way he spoke, slowly and with complete control, or would all that restraint disappear the second his mouth touched mine?
Jesus Christ.
What was wrong with me?
His thumb left my lip.
I barely noticed.
My eyes were still on his mouth.
“Bonnie.”
His voice was quieter now.
I didn’t answer.
Something almost amused entered his expression.
He knew.
Of course he f*****g knew.
“Bonnie.”
My gaze slowly lifted.
His eyes held mine.
Then his voice dropped even lower.
“Run.”
The word took a second to reach me.
I blinked.
“What?”
He released my wrist.
“You wanted a chance.”
I stared at him.
He stepped away from me for the first time since he’d crossed the room.
“I’m giving you one.”
I looked around.
Nobody else moved.
I looked back at him.
“You’re serious?”
His expression gave me nothing.
“If you get away from my men, you’re free.”
My heart began beating faster again, but for an entirely different reason.
“And if I don’t?”
That faint curve returned to his mouth.
This time I refused to look at it.
“Then we continue our conversation.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t need to.”
He glanced toward the men behind me.
Then back at me.
“How much of a head start?”
“Thirty seconds.”
“That’s insulting.”
One eyebrow lifted.
“Twenty.”
“You just went down.”
“You complained.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Something warm flickered briefly in those cold eyes.
“Fifteen.”
My mouth fell open.
“You can’t just keep subtracting time.”
“Ten.”
“Fine!”
For the first time, I thought I saw genuine amusement in his face.
He slipped one hand casually into his trouser pocket.
“Then I suggest you stop arguing.”
I stared at him.
He stared back.
Five men stood between me and the door.
I looked at them.
Then at the corridor beyond.
Then back at Lorenzo.
He tilted his head slightly.
“Bonnie?”
“What?”
His gaze moved slowly over me, settling for the briefest moment on my heels before returning to my face.
That almost-smile appeared again.
“Run.”