I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. But when Olivia asks for a shower, my cock stands to attention. I can see us together, water cascading over our naked bodies, me thrusting into her from behind.
Not going to happen. I squash the thought.
I will not underestimate Olivia. She’ll kill me with a smile on her face and a knife in my gut given half an opportunity.
“You can stand outside,” she says, eyes on my still-bare chest.
“And let you find a way to escape?”
“From a bathroom.” She looks so innocent.
I kneel at her feet and undo my knotted suit jacket. Her ankles are a little red and I can’t help but soothe my thumb over the hurt. I wish…
“Turn.” And when she obeys to give me her wrists, that compliance shoots arousal from my heart to my cock.
She eases her hands through the arms of my shirt. “Are you going to join me?”
“No.”
I point to the bathroom. Her legs are bare, and I allow myself to look as I follow her in.
She’s teasing me as she unbuttons my shirt as she walks, slowly, tantalising. I pretend insouciance as I close the door and lean against the tiles. It’s an indulgent bathroom, with a huge claw-footed bathtub, a walk-in shower, skylights I wouldn’t put it past Olivia to escape from, and a score of potted plants that make the room feel like a jungle.
She’s still wearing the modest swimsuit from when I stole her from the water. Yeah, as if I wasn’t in love enough with this girl, she has to go and be cute as well as dangerous. My favourite combination. Or perhaps that’s just her.
“Get undressed. Wash.” I hook a towel for her and turn on the tap.
I avert my gaze down and hear her swimsuit hit the tiles. Her toes are so damn pretty, the nails painted in a sweet shimmery pale blue. I watch her feet step under the beat of water.
My imagination supplies the image of the spray hitting her tits and I bite back a groan.
“You’re also still dirty.”
“I’ll live.” Maybe the sheen of sweat over my skin will prevent me from…
“Why don’t you join me?”
I want to. Join her, look. Fuck her until we’re both so sated we can barely move. I want to claim her for my own and never let her go.
There’s only one part of that which makes any sense. Keeping my eyes trained on the floor, I push off my trousers and boxers simultaneously and step into the shower. Thanking my past self for installing a ridiculously big rainfall shower that covers about four square metres, I grit my teeth and think of unsexy things as the warm water hits me. I mustn’t get a hard-on.
“You won’t look at my naked breasts? Warm soapy water is running over them.” Her voice is sultry and full of promise.
“No,” I grunt, but the image is in my head, exactly as she intends. My cock rises in response.
“So honourable,” she says with a lick of irony.
I find the shower gel while desperately ensuring I don’t look at her perfect body. But the memory of holding her in my arms echoes, undeniable. I soap myself perfunctorily, staring at Olivia’s feet. She curls her toes and gently drags the arch of her foot up her calf.
“Are you liking looking at my feet?”
Fuck, this woman is a minx and a siren. I refuse to be drawn.
“It looks as though you are,” she murmurs.
Yeah, I bet it does. I have a hard-on that could be used as a baseball bat.
I must not look at her shapely legs, the curve of her hips, or the dip where her strong legs gives way to soft and pink and yielding.
“Would you wash my back?”
“No!”
I push the soap from my hair and almost scramble away, snagging a towel and wrapping it around my waist. I don’t take my eyes from her feet. I never want to let her out of my sight again.
She lingers over washing and I swear she’s torturing me. But at least I’ve covered my cock now, even if it’s tenting the towel, and eventually she turns off the shower and there’s a soft rustle.
I risk looking up and exhale with relief when I find her wrapped in one of my towels, a sexy smile on her lips and speculation in her clever eyes.
“I need to use the loo.” She tugs the fluffy white towel closer around herself.
“I won’t look.” I wave my hand and focus on a banana plant, its veined leaves tinged with red.
“Okay.”
The air shifts. There’s something wrong. I scowl as I try to understand what’s happening.
“You could have joined me, you know,” she purrs. My mind can’t parse the difference. And if I had been one iota more concentrated on my arousal, I’d have missed the sound of the door catch.
My head whips up in time to see Olivia’s naked shoulder slip out of sight. I throw myself after her, all my chase instincts triggered like she’s a little rabbit and I’m a fox. Blood pounds through my limbs, and for the second time today I relish the feel of hunting my girl.
She’s halfway to the front door by the time I’m out of the bathroom, and in three steps I’ve caught up with her. A moment later, she’s in my arms, kicking and thrashing. I hold her tight, lifting her off the floor and carrying her in a bear hug to the bedroom. The one place I know it’s easy to tie her down.
My towel falls as I carry her, and I kick it aside. She’s slippery wet with water from the shower, but as I dump her on my bed and swiftly tie her wrist with the strap at the headboard, I realise something.
My balls don’t hurt.
Neither do my eyes. Or my scalp.
She’s a smart woman, but though she’s kicked the shit out of my calves, she hasn’t gone for anything incapacitating. I see what’s going on.
I affix her other wrist, then catch her ankle as she attempts to jam her heel into my chest, allowing myself to enjoy the softness of her skin under my fingertips.
When she’s spread-eagled on my bed, her back arches, pushing her breasts up.
“You bastard.”
I stand back and regard her at my leisure. Tied down, legs open, gorgeous. She tests her bonds and her mouth opens to an “o” as she gasps. Her blue eyes are black, the pupils wide.
“You can throw your voice.”
She jerks her hand then curls her fingers on the rope. Her hips flex a little as she finds that she’s fully caught.
“Can be useful.”
“Cute trick. Enough to make a man doubt his sanity.”
“Not someone as arrogant as you, obviously.”
“Pride, Olivia. Not arrogance.”
She’s spread on my bed, exposed. These restraints are intended for a quite different purpose than keeping a woman prisoner, and the flush of her face reveals she knows that too.
The water on her skin has dried, but I can’t help but glance between her legs. Her pussy lips glisten with arousal.
“You knew I’d catch you.”
She knew the door was locked with my fingerprint, she saw me open it. Her mouth sets in a mulish line. Stubborn.
“If you wanted to escape, you’d have tried the skylight.”
“Are you just going to leave me tied up? What’s your plan, King? Why am I even here? You’re not going to kill me.”
“I’m not going to kill you, no.” In fact, I’m going to protect her with my life.
“Let me go.”
I shake my head.
“I can help, you know. Ease that ache.” I allow her to see my gaze on where she’s wet and pink and needy. I should be telling her about Henry, and the threat to her life. Justifying my actions and helping her see I’m not the enemy. “Just say the word.”
Our gazes meet, and I know she’s remembering the same night I am.
Almost two years ago. I’d arrived in Camden only a month before, and was still trying to work out the machinations of my late brother’s inner circle. Who was deranged, who was safe, who would kill me at the drop of a hat.
I’d been in the library late one night. Nobody in that house used the library. It was just for show. After all, who needs antiquated books when you have smartphones and Wi-Fi? Answer: me. And Olivia.
She crept in, covered by the darkness. I had been sprawled in a chair, glasses perched on my nose, working on my laptop trying to figure out the mess of finances my brother had left. It hadn’t been just Trudy’s life in danger from Henry Senior, it was the whole organisation.
Her eyes had gone wide and scared. I asked her about what book she’d been fetching—a botany text—and she’d ended up curled in a chair opposite, telling me about the plants she loved.
And I think that was when I fell in love with her. That sweet earnestness and curiosity. She was as interested in the natural world as a kitten. And she was guileless, innocent, naive. The look in her eyes said she barely understood her own feelings, never mind my overwhelming desire for her. It was hours before I sent her to bed and denied my need to pull her onto my lap.
The next day, Henry had arrived home.
A longstanding political match I hadn’t paid any attention to suddenly gained a painful resonance. She and Henry seemed to like each other well enough, and I swore not to get involved, however much I wanted Olivia for myself.
But I didn’t forget those hours in her company, and what I let myself imagine was interest in her eyes.
“I’m going to kill you,” she hisses.
I’m not imagining it now. Her gaze scorches me.
“Before you kill me.” I shrug. “I can make you feel good.”
“I can’t stop you.”
“No, you’re right. I could kiss your pussy and force you to come on my tongue.”
Pink flushes her neck and over her collarbones.
“But I won’t unless you ask, Lia.”
She blinks at the sound of my private pet name for her. Understandable. I’ve never used it. I’ve thought about calling her sweet endearments while I thrust into her, but no words have ever been said. She’s my secret indulgence, dreaming of her slight body willingly on top of me, taking her pleasure and giving herself to me. Too many times I’ve wrapped my fingers around my cock, closed my eyes, and pictured my Lia.
I wish she were mine.
She trembles.
I wait. Seconds, then longer.
Then I breathe a sigh and turn away. Even if I expected it, it hurts to remember who I am. She’s too good for a brutal and cynical old mobster like me. Too perfect for a man as scarred as I am.
“When the danger is over,” I say harshly, “I’ll let you go.” When I’ve neutralised Henry.
“I want…” The softness of her voice makes me pause. “Fix the ache, King.”
There’s twice as much blood in my veins suddenly. In my cock, pounding through my limbs. I turn back and meet her gaze.
If this is all I ever have, I’ll be grateful. Crumbs of Lia is more than I thought I’d get. “I’ll always fix anything you need.”
