Wrong Place, Wrong Man

Chapter 13

I draped my blouse over one arm.

“Are you expecting a striptease?”

His eyes travelled over the bare skin above my skirt.

“No.”

A pause.

“But I’m not opposed to surprises.”

“Shame.”

I stepped closer.

His gaze sharpened.

There.

I saw it.

For all his composure, Lorenzo wasn’t immune to me.

The knowledge was intoxicating.

Maybe it was stupid.

Maybe I had finally lost my mind somewhere beneath the marina.

But after an entire night of being chased, threatened and controlled, I desperately wanted one moment in which he wasn’t certain what I would do.

So I gave him one.

I stepped into his space.

His body went still.

My fingers touched his chest.

Lightly.

The wet cotton beneath them was cold.

The muscle beneath it was not.

I slid my hand upward.

His eyes darkened.

I felt his breathing change beneath my palm.

Barely.

But it changed.

Got you.

I lifted my face toward his.

Lorenzo’s hand settled on my hip.

Not cautiously.

Possessively.

His fingers spread against my bare waist where my blouse no longer covered it, and he pulled me the final inch toward him.

My breath caught.

Our bodies met.

My chest brushed his.

His mouth hovered close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath.

The amusement disappeared from his eyes.

Something darker replaced it.

Hungry.

My stomach tightened.

His thumb moved slowly along my waist.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, bella.”

I looked at his mouth.

Then deliberately back into his eyes.

“So are you.”

His fingers tightened.

I rose slightly onto my toes.

His head lowered.

Just a fraction.

Perfect.

I smiled.

Then drove my knee into him.

Hard.

Lorenzo’s breath left him in a violent grunt.

His hand released my hip.

I stepped backwards immediately.

For one magnificent second, Lorenzo Valenti simply stood there.

Bent slightly.

Silent.

I picked up my blouse.

“That,” I said sweetly, “was for the swim.”

He slowly straightened.

I should have run.

Every survival instinct I possessed told me to run.

Instead, I stood there because apparently I had learned absolutely nothing tonight.

Lorenzo looked at me.

His face gave me nothing.

Then his eyes changed.

I took one cautious step backwards.

“Don’t.”

I pointed at him.

He moved toward me.

“Lorenzo.”

Another step.

“I mean it.”

His mouth curved.

Not pleasantly.

My pulse exploded.

“Oh, fuck.”

I turned.

He caught me before I made it three feet.

An arm wrapped around my waist and lifted me cleanly from the dock.

I screamed.

“Put me down!”

He threw me over his shoulder.

My wet hair fell toward the ground.

“You f*****g caveman!”

His hand settled firmly against the back of my thigh to keep me in place.

“Careful.”

“Get your hand off my ass!”

“It isn’t on your ass.”

“It is dangerously f*****g close!”

“Would you prefer I move it?”

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

His shoulders moved.

The bastard was laughing.

“You think this is funny?”

“I think you’re the most entertaining problem I’ve had in years.”

“I am not your problem.”

His hand tightened around my thigh when I tried to wriggle free.

“Stop moving.”

“Or what?”

He went still.

So did I.

Slowly, Lorenzo turned his head enough that his voice reached me clearly.

“Bonnie.”

Just my name.

Nothing else.

Low.

Rough.

Warning wrapped around something considerably hotter.

My body reacted before my pride could stop it.

I went still.

He felt that.

Of course he did.

A quiet laugh vibrated through his chest.

I wanted to murder him.

“Put me down.”

“No.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“You can’t just carry me away.”

“Apparently I can.”

“I hate you.”

“You’ve mentioned that.”

“I’ll bite you.”

“I’ve been warned.”

“I’ll kick you again.”

His hand slid fractionally higher against my thigh.

My breath caught.

“Try.”

The word travelled straight through me.

I stopped struggling.

Not because he’d won.

Absolutely not.

Because suddenly I was acutely aware that I was draped over the shoulder of a soaking wet, tattooed man who had one arm locked around my legs and apparently no remaining interest in pretending he wasn’t attracted to me.

That was an entirely different kind of dangerous.

He carried me toward the car.

I lifted my head.

His men stood several yards away.

Marco was looking anywhere except at us.

“Marco!”

His shoulders stiffened.

“Don’t encourage her,” Lorenzo said.

“I wasn’t going to, boss.”

“Marco, help me.”

“No.”

I stared at him.

“Traitor.”

“You hit me with your shoe.”

“That was somebody else.”

“You bit me.”

“Oh. Right.”

Lorenzo laughed again.

I slapped his back.

“Stop enjoying this.”

“No.”

When we reached the car, he finally lowered me.

But he didn’t release me.

My back met the side of the vehicle, and suddenly Lorenzo was in front of me, one hand braced beside my head while the other remained at my waist.

My smile vanished.

The humour disappeared with it.

He was too close again.

Much too close.

His wet shirt brushed my bare stomach.

My blouse remained forgotten in one hand.

I could feel the warmth of him despite the night air.

His eyes moved over my face.

Then down.

To my mouth.

“You kicked me.”

“You kidnapped me.”

“You ran.”

“You told me to.”

“You jumped into the water.”

“You chased me.”

“You hit one of my men with a shoe.”

“He deserved it.”

“You made twelve armed men spend forty minutes chasing a barefoot woman through a marina.”

I couldn’t help myself.

“Thirteen.”

His eyes narrowed.

“You’re counting yourself again.”

“You got wet. You count.”

For a second, he stared at me.

Then his thumb touched my waist.

The smallest movement.

My breath caught anyway.

His gaze sharpened immediately.

Damn him.

“There,” he murmured.

I swallowed.

“There what?”

“That.”

His thumb moved again.

Slowly.

Barely touching my skin.

“You talk a great deal when you’re frightened.”

“I talk a great deal generally.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“And?”

“You stop when I touch you.”

My pulse stumbled.

I hated how pleased he looked about that discovery.

“Maybe I’m contemplating homicide.”

“No.”

His head lowered slightly.

“You’re not.”

“You seem very confident.”

“I can feel your pulse.”

His fingers moved from my waist to the side of my neck.

Not gripping.

Simply resting there.

His thumb settled beneath my jaw.

My heartbeat went wild beneath it.

Lorenzo’s eyes darkened.

Traitorous f*****g artery.

His mouth came closer.

Not touching.

Close enough that one careless movement from either of us would change everything.

My lips parted.

His gaze dropped.

For one impossible second, I thought he was going to kiss me.

Worse.

For one impossible second, I wanted him to.

Then his mouth moved past mine.

His lips hovered beside my ear.

“When I decide to kiss you, Bonnie,” he murmured, “you won’t be wondering whether I’m going to.”

A shiver travelled down my spine.

His voice lowered further.

“And you won’t be trying to escape.”

My fingers tightened around the wet blouse.

He pulled back.

I stared at him.

My brain had apparently resigned.

Lorenzo opened the rear door.

The cold night rushed back into the space he’d occupied.

“Get in.”

There he was again.

The arrogant bastard.

My faculties returned.

I looked at the car.

Then at him.

“No.”

His expression went blank.

I smiled.

“You really thought that little speech was going to work?”

Marco coughed suspiciously behind him.

Lorenzo closed his eyes for one second.

When he opened them again, there was something almost murderous in them.

And something else.

Something that looked dangerously close to delight.

“Get. In. The. Car.”

I crossed my arms.

“No.”

He stared at me.

I stared back.

Five seconds passed.

Maybe ten.

Then Lorenzo smiled.

It was slow.

Beautiful.

Terrible.

The sort of smile that made every instinct I possessed whisper that I had made a catastrophic mistake.

He bent.

My eyes widened.

“Don’t you f*****g dare.”

His shoulder hit my stomach.

The world flipped.

“LORENZO!”

He threw me over his shoulder for the second time.

Marco finally lost the battle and laughed.

“Marco,” Lorenzo said calmly.

The laughter stopped.

“Yes, boss.”

“Drive.”

I pounded one fist against Lorenzo’s back.

“You are an absolute f*****g psychopath!”

His hand landed firmly on my thigh.

“And you’re coming home with me.”

I froze.

Home?

Before I could ask what the hell that meant, Lorenzo lowered me into the back seat and followed me inside.

The door closed.

Locks clicked.

I stared at him.

He leaned back against the leather as though the last hour had been perfectly ordinary, wet shirt clinging to his body, tattoos exposed, dark hair falling carelessly over his forehead.

Then his eyes moved to mine.

Slowly.

Possessively.

A hint of that terrible smile returned.

The car pulled away from the marina.

And somewhere beneath the anger, fear and humiliating awareness of the nearly naked man sitting beside me, one thought rose above all the others.

I had survived the hunt.

I had the uncomfortable feeling that being caught might be considerably more dangerous.