Page 20 of Stolen Rebel

She picks up the dress and sets it in its own pile. “No. I mean, it’s beautiful. But it’s an odd thing for you to buy considering I’m a prisoner here. No real need for a fancy dress.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” I move into the room and pick up the dress. “Put it on.”

“No.”

I arch a brow. “You’re saying no to me, Erin? Brave.”

“It’s not practical. Plus it’s chilly in here.”

I step a few inches closer, near enough that her scent envelops me. My dick hardens, proof there’s one part of me that’s still fucking stupid. She stands her ground, the merest flash of defiance in her eyes.

There you are, beautiful.

It’s gone by the time I blink, her coy expression and dipped chin making a disappointing comeback.

Still, it’s only the first day at my home. And while I wasn’t blessed with much patience, I admit, I’m having more fun taunting her than I thought I would. Peeling this onion won’t make me cry.

“Put the dress on, or walk around naked. That’s the choice.”

A swallow moves down her throat. I track its progress, drop my gaze briefly to her heaving chest, then slowly look up until our eyes collide. There isn’t a hint of defiance this time. Shame.

“I will if you leave and give me some privacy.”

“A negotiation? Cute. I’ll turn around. Final offer.” Without waiting for her response, I turn my back. The sound of her removing her clothes is one of the most erotic experiences I’ve had in fucking years. I close my eyes, and the vision of her naked body appears. The room feels too small, the air thick with the heat radiating between us. I count the seconds between the slide of a zip and the brush of her hair against her shoulders, my body responding to her every movement with a primal, achingly deep need I can’t let her see.

Given five years have passed, she won’t look the same, but for now, it’ll do.

I’m leaking pre-cum. I glance down. There’s a damp spot on my navy joggers. I’ve been with women who’ve sucked my dick for five minutes and never spilled a drop of pre-cum. Rowan’s getting changed out of my sightline, and I’m close to coming hands free.

That’s some fucking power. A power I can’t ever let her know she has over me. God, I’m pathetic. A woman I was in love with almost gets me killed then splits. Five years later, I find her and kidnap her, and three days later, I’m fucking putty in her hands.

I push out the memory of naked Rowan and conjure one of the painful rehab sessions I undertook after getting stabbed in the kidney. My anger returns with a vengeance, the memory acting as lighter fuel to a dimming flame.

“That’s long enough.” I spin around as she’s pulling the spaghetti straps in place. Even though the dress is still unzipped, it clings to her body. It wasn’t easy to see in the jeans she wore at the pub, but her hips are more flared than they were when I knew her, although her waist is just as narrow and those legs… those legs that hooked around my neck.

Fuck.

“Are you going to zip me up?”

My nostrils flare, my pulse spiking. “No, I’m fucking not. Take it off.”

She blinks, confused. “But… you wanted me to put it on.”

“And now I’ve changed my mind. Get used to it.”

I whip around and storm through the door, slamming it behind me. I’m halfway down the stairs when I realize I didn’t slide the deadbolt in place.

Fuck it. Let her try to escape. Give me a reason to punish her. Because, fuck me, I’m not sure I can keep those furious fires burning on my own.

Chapter 12

ROWAN

Liam Mahoney is absolutely unhinged.

There are traces of the man I gave my heart to, but it’s like someone poured poisonous concrete over him and dialed him up to eleven.

If I wasn’t trying to maintain the facade of goodie-two-shoes Erin, I’d wear the fucking dress to breakfast tomorrow and watch him choke on his runny eggs.