I looked at my hands on his chest, the heat of him burning through my fingertips. Perhaps touching him had been a mistake.
Damn. I’d been trying so hard to modify my behaviour and not simply do the first thing that came into my head. I was supposed to think things through, restrain myself, because I knew what happened when I didn’t. I’d seen the consequences. And they were terrible.
My cheeks were burning as I snatched my hands away, a combination of shame and embarrassment gripping me. ‘I’m sorry,’ I muttered against his thumb. ‘I didn’t mean to. I just...wanted to t-touch you.’
His grip on my chin tightened.
And, before I knew what was happening, his head bent, his mouth brushing lightly over mine.
I’d never been kissed on the lips before, and for a second my brain simply ceased to function. There was softness, a fleeting pressure and heat. Lots and lots of heat.
A current of electricity crackled over my skin, goosebumps following along in its wake, and my hands were lifting once again, reaching for him, but he was gone, my fingers closing on empty air.
Panting, I realised that the sudden darkness meant my eyes were closed, so I opened them to find his wintry blue gaze staring into mine.
‘You kissed me,’ I said stupidly. ‘Why?’
His beautiful mouth quirked. ‘How else was I going to shut you up?’
‘I wasn’t—’
‘And to get a taste of what we’re working with here.’
I couldn’t think. What was he talking about? ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Of course you don’t.’ That quirk became a smile, satisfied and somehow very male. ‘But you’ll find out.’
‘What do you mean?’
He didn’t answer. He merely straightened up and sat back in his seat, getting out his phone and looking down at the screen.
Dismissing me.
A million questions swarmed but, perhaps for the first time in my life, it was easy to stay quiet. Because I could still feel that kiss, the imprint of his lips on mine, tingling, burning...
I’d only known him half an hour. God.
Turning away, I stared sightlessly out the window of the van at the neon of the city outside, not even thinking about how cool it was that I was out without an entourage, on my own for the first time in my life.
Out from under my father’s thumb.
My own woman at last.
No, all I could think about was Ajax bloody King and that kiss.
And, for the second time that night, I wondered if maybe I was in way over my head.
Ajax
I SAT BACK in my chair on the big stone terrace that looked out over the sea, nursing an espresso. The sun was warm on my face, the ocean busy throwing itself against the rocks below the house I’d claimed after Dad had gone to jail.
Last night I’d shown Imogen to the bedroom I’d set aside for her and she’d gone quietly, without peppering me with any more questions.
Satisfied she was secure for the night, I’d then sent texts to my two brothers, telling them that I wouldn’t be around for a week or so and that they were to handle any emergencies that might crop up.
Luckily their personal lives had settled down recently with two lovely women keeping them on the straight and narrow. God knows it was about time someone other than me stayed on top of things, and I was appreciative.
It certainly helped me now when I had to concentrate all my attention on a lovely woman of my own.
A strangely fascinating young woman, who was not in any way what I’d anticipated.
The virgin part, yes. The questions and the excitement and the sheer vibrating energy of her, not so much.
I hoped that wouldn’t become a problem.
But that was an issue for later. First I had to contact White, let him know I had Imogen, and deliver my ultimatum.
I picked up my phone and pressed a button, waiting until the contact I’d been given answered the call.
‘Yeah, who is this?’ It was one of White’s thugs.
‘Ajax King,’ I said curtly. ‘Tell your boss I have his daughter. If he wants to see her safe and sound, get him to call me at this number.’
I didn’t wait for a response, cutting the call then putting the phone back down on the table and ignoring it as it began to ring almost immediately.
I wasn’t going to answer him right away. He could stew for a couple of hours.
Glancing down at my watch, I checked the time.
Nine-thirty in the morning.
Jesus Christ, just how long was Imogen going to sleep?
Kidnapped women were not supposed to have long lie-ins when their captors were waiting to inform them of the rules of their captivity.
In spite of my satisfaction with how easily my plan had come together, a thread of annoyance wound through me.
I couldn’t believe how unafraid of me she’d been in the van last night, even when I’d deliberately been explicit, thinking that would scare the shit out of her.
But the bloody woman only seemed to find that even more exciting. And then she’d touched me, laid those delicate little fingers on my chest, pressing lightly, feeling me.
As if she had no idea about the chemistry flaring between us.
As if I was no fucking threat to her at all.
That touch shouldn’t have affected me in the slightest.
But it had.
Given that, I shouldn’t have kissed her and Christ knew why I had. Perhaps it was simply the way she’d looked at me, as if she’d never seen anything so fascinating in all her life, and then the assumption that I didn’t want her, like she’d be disappointed if I didn’t...
Nice justifications. You just wanted her.
But since when had what I wanted ever mattered?
Except her lips had been as soft as I’d known they would be, and she’d smelled of something sweet, something that had made my heart twist inside my chest. Roses. My mother’s
