Page 19 of Vow Of Fire

The corners of his lips quirked. “Stay still.”

When I didn’t, his eyes hardened and he reached behind his back. A moment later, I felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed against my side. “I said, keep still.”

I stopped wriggling.

His eyes burned into mine. “Now. Are you going to cooperate?”

I nodded, trying to curb my fury. How dare he treat me like this? But the icy steel pushed against my skin made me think twice about arguing.

“Good.”

I hated feeling so powerless. Hated that he held me at his mercy. I glared up at him, biting my lip to keep from blurting out a scathing retort.

“I was wrong,” he murmured, and to my horror, I felt the gun begin to move upward, over my waist, until it rested against the outside of my breast. “You’re not rigid at all.”

I drew in a shaky breath. “What are you doing?”

With his knee wedged between my thighs, his big hand wrapped around my wrists, his broad, hard chest hovering just inches above mine, and his gun barrel teasing the sensitive underside of my breast, I was strangely aroused.

How was that even possible?

Despite his warning to keep still, I couldn’t help squirming, my hips lifting off the bed, arching toward his crotch. It had been an involuntary movement, but I knew he’d caught it.

I felt his breath hitch as his eyes locked on mine. The gun ceased moving.

“Why aren’t you scared?”

Was it my imagination or had he moved closer? I could see the flecks in his irises now. Silvery threads radiating outward from his dark gray pupils.

“I am,” I whispered, unable to stop my gaze from dropping to his lips.

He nudged my nipple with the gun barrel until it puckered into a hard peak. “No, you’re not. But you should be.”

“Why? Are you going to hurt me?”

His face tightened. “If you lie to me, yes.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Why would I lie?”

He stared at me for a long, heated moment. Our bodies were almost touching. It wouldn’t take much for him to lower himself onto me and⁠—

“Get dressed, Ophelia,” he said flatly, moving off me. “We need to go.”

I sat up, moving very slowly, eyeing the weapon that was still aimed in my direction.

“Don’t try anything else,” he warned, as if reading my mind.

I walked toward the closet. My work outfit wasn’t suitable for… whatever this was. A discussion? An interrogation?

I pulled on a pair of black leggings and a pink, cashmere sweater and wondered what on earth the Marcellis wanted with me.

Sure, I had some unsavory clients, but I rarely dealt directly with them. Buyers, brokers, and art dealers did that. Intermediaries like Mikhail and Helen.

Dante escorted me outside and handed me off to a massive hulk of a man. He was huge and stocky, his face covered in scars. Rocco, I assumed.

He gripped me with a beefy hand as we walked down the three flights of stairs to the lobby. I looked around desperately for the concierge, but he was nowhere to be found. Dante had paid him to disappear, I realized. Help wasn’t coming.

A black SUV with tinted windows idled at the curb.