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She looked like she wanted to strangle me. “What the hell was that? If honesty means something to you, I’ll tell you this for free: That was truly the crappiest shit I’ve ever heard. I am a prisoner here.”
I didn’t even blink.
“A prisoner doesn’t have a quarter of the luxuries and liberties you’ve been given. Be grateful.”
“Oh, sure.” Sarcasm dripped from her tone, her eyes flashing with hate. “Thank you, dearest kidnapper. Where would I ever be without you? Oh, wait! I know. I would be out there living my best life yet with people who care about me.”
Her voice cracked at the end, and she looked away before wiping her eyes. I stared at her, poker-faced.
“I don’t know how to handle crying women. So, deal with—” I waved a hand, motioning to her teary eyes, “—that yourself. Come on, let’s go. It’s getting cold out here.”
Freya gnashed her teeth and tried to move again but winced like she was in visible pain. I looked down. The heels strapped around her ankles had caused some damage. Her skin glowed red under the dim parking lot lighting, and her feet were slightly swollen.
My brows creased. “What’s the problem now?”
She sighed and huffed at the roof like she couldn’t stomach any more of me. “I can’t walk in these death traps. You might not have noticed, but I don’t...I don’t do heels. Boots and sneakers are more of my specialty. Things that are more down to earth, though I know you can’t relate.”
I’d noticed.
“Take them off.”
“Just great,” she mumbled, crouching to undo the straps. She uttered something along the lines of making her walk barefoot to prove a point about me being in charge.
Her tantrum bursts never failed to amuse me. It was like watching a kid whine and complain when the parent refused to let things go her way.
Freya’s perception of me was no secret. She loathed me, detested me, and wished, above all things, that I fully paid for all my crimes in a maximum-security prison.
She rose to her full height, silver heels clicking in her grasp, and gave me awhat now?stare.
I suppressed a smirk, closed the distance, and picked her up bridal style. Her eyes grew to the size of squash balls, and her breathing sped up.
“Wh—what are you doing?”
Her body was so warm—our lips so close that I could almost taste them. Just one tilt of my head would bring us together.
“You have eyes. What does it look like?”
“I know. Butwhyare you carrying me?”
“Dumb question. Try again.”
She sucked in a deep breath and blurted, “I’m heavy. Your arms will hurt.”
Was that care I heard?
We got into the elevator, and she leaned forward to press the button. When she tilted, I caught a glimpse of her cleavage and remembered what they really looked like. My blood ran hot, and my cock made a reaction in my pants.
Slowly, the doors slid shut, and she squirmed in my arms.
She really had to stop moving, or else I was going to damn everything I knew about restraint and kiss her.
“A feather weighs more than you. So, hush now and stay still.”
She fell mute and snuggled closer with her arms thrown over my neck.
I knew she’d only been talking to distract herself, but we had to face it: It wasn’t working.
Her eyes held mine during the ride up to the penthouse, and a tensed-up bubble of silence enveloped us, save for the sound of her shaky exhales. The hint of vodka in her breath hit my face, and I caught the daze in her eyes.
