Kidnapped by the Billionaire (14 page)

“Get dressed,” he said curtly.

Then he pushed her gently to the side, pulled open the fitting room door, and walked out.

*   *   *

Elijah waited by the store counter, his hands in the pockets of his leather bike jacket. One hand curling around his gun because shit, he had to hold onto something that reminded him of his goddamn purpose. Especially when he was also trying to quell the intense hard-on in his jeans.

He couldn't get the sight of Violet out of his head. The way she'd pulled off his shirt and dropped it on the ground, then stared at him, her eyes full of challenge as she'd stood there completely naked.

Of course he'd known what he was in for when he'd joined her in the fitting room. And he'd known she wouldn't be happy about it. But he hadn't wanted to leave her there by herself because who knew what she'd manage to get up to if he couldn't keep an eye on her? He couldn't afford any surprises like the one she'd sprung on him in the bathtub the day before. Especially not in public.

He'd thought he could handle her. He'd thought he had himself under control enough that her taking off her clothes wouldn't affect him in the slightest.

But he'd been wrong.

She'd walked toward him, her body smooth and golden and lushly curved, and he'd felt the weight of every single day of the past seven years of abstinence pressing down on him. Crushing him. Those small, high breasts he'd touched, stroked. The graceful indent of her waist and the swell of her hips. The soft thatch of golden curls between her thighs.

He'd gotten hard, so hard, almost instantly. And she'd been all determination, showing him she wasn't afraid, getting right up close. He'd seen the triumph in those beautiful turquoise eyes of hers, had known he hadn't hidden his desire from her as well as he'd thought.

So he'd had to assert himself somehow, show her he was still in control.

That didn't work out so well, did it?

He could feel the heat of her skin against his palm even now. Smell the scent of her body, musk and sandalwood. He'd frightened her, and yet it hadn't only been fear in her eyes; there had been heat there too.

All he'd been able to think about then was the way she'd been in his lap the day before, the way she'd arched into his hand, wanting more. A little cat wanting to be stroked.

Fuck, he'd wanted her. And that had made him so goddamn angry, because he knew that she was also playing him. That she was using the strange chemistry between them to get to him, probably using sex to change his mind about giving her to Jericho.

You should have just taken her.

His fingers curled on the gun, the metal warming beneath his palm. The fucking sales assistant was still talking on the phone, oblivious.

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 logic 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.