Bloody hell. I don’t entertain that notion, grabbing her wrist and tugging her into me.
“Hey, man,” the frat boy complains, his eyebrows drawing in as he turns with her. “We were having a conversation, dickhead.”
“And now you’re not. Find someone else’s girlfriend to snog before I beat seven shades of shit out of you.”
Lenny’s eyes widen as if in question, and I wish I had an answer for her. Wish I could explain the sudden need I have to make known that she’s here for me, even if they don’t know it’s pretend.
My hand slides up the column of her neck, my thumb pressing beneath her chin while my fingers curl into her soft flesh. It’s demented, this urge, but I’m in too deep now to stop it.
When I lean down and press my lips to hers, the entire background of the pub seems to melt away. My tongue prods the seam of her mouth, and it opens on the softest sigh, beckoning me to explore.
And right then, I know.
I’m fucked.
10
Okay, Len. Don’t panic.
Everything is fine.
So, a psychopathic assassin has you pressed against the wall of his bar while he defiles your mouth in ways you didn’t think were possible anymore.
That’s not cause for concern, right?
Especially since his lips are incredibly soft, and he tastes like bittersweet candy.
Jonas wrenches himself from me as soon as the lurker with a bad crew cut scampers off, tail tucked between his legs. His large fingers twist in the strands of hair at the base of my skull, somehow keeping me close and distant at the same time.
My body hums, dissatisfied with the loss.
“First thing you should know,” he says, or breathes, rather. Like the kiss we just shared dragged the air from his lungs the same way it did mine. “I don’t share. Ever.”
See, Len? Already off to a better start than you were with Preston.
Even as his words send frissons of heat through the chambers of my heart, I can’t help but poke the beast anyway.
“Ever?” I bat my lashes, feigning innocence. “That’s a shame.”
His eyes narrow, shifting from that unique violet to angry blue. They’re electrifying, impossible to look away from, and I momentarily consider the mistake I’ve made involving him.
I’m way in over my head, and I think Jonas Wolfe might capitalize on that.
One of his thumbs catches on the swell of my bottom lip, and he plucks against it like a musician tuning his favorite instrument; slowly, deliberately. As if he’s the only one who knows the right pitch.
“The only sharing I’m interested in when it comes to you, is ensuring my cock gets as much time with your cunt as my lips. Believe me, love, when I say you won’t require more than that.”
My breath hitches, warmth pooling in my stomach and expanding lower, like heated jelly between my thighs.
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” I say, because in spite of the butterflies erupting in my chest, there’s an undercurrent of unease that digs its claws into me, too.
“No?” Jonas tightens his grip, sending a flurry of sharp pain across my vertebrae. “It sounds good to me. I could take you to the back. Have you stripped and ravished before you can even bloody blink.”
Some memories are like vampires, sinking their fangs into your vulnerable flesh and draining you until they’ve transformed you completely. A year ago, I might have been able to handle the flirting. Might have even taken him up on the offer.
Now, all I feel is wary.
Uncomfortable in my own skin.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight, and my heart hammers inside my throat. I swallow over the sudden dryness coating my tongue. “Sex wasn’t on the table.”
“Well, no, I suppose it doesn’t have to be.” He shifts, brushing his hips against mine, and my muscles tense up. “I’d be just as happy to bend you over the bar and make you see stars, little puppet.”
“Glad to see my attitude hasn’t actually hampered your ego at all.”
Smirking at the reference to the night we met, Jonas slowly lets his hands fall from me, taking a step back. I wipe my mouth with my palm, trying to erase the imprint of him on my skin, and he tosses a quick glance around the room.
Most of the people are going on with their night like we aren’t even here, but there are occasional outliers who find it necessary to gawk. Like they’ve never seen two people make out in a dark alcove before.
Pressing my palm to my stomach, I try to relieve the ache flaring in my gut; something twisted and anxious, warning me of trouble to come.
“Maybe we should talk in your office?”
Jonas dips his chin, looking down his nose at me. “No, I don’t think so.”
“What? Why not?”
There’s something about this man—it’s wicked and dangerous, tainted by evil doings, but he somehow maintains a certain charm despite that.
Mama would say it’s his accent, deep and silken that confuses Americans and makes them putty in a Brit’s hands.
I’ve heard our staff members whisper that it’s a curse on the Wolfe family. That being likable is their penance for generations of corruption.
Standing here with him though, all that charm seems to evaporate, leaving just the husk of a criminal behind.
“I accept your proposal.”
My shoulders sag as relief flushes over me. “Really? Oh, my god, that’s great. We can—”
Lifting his index finger, he presses it against my mouth, silencing me. “Ah, ah. There are, as you can imagine, stipulations. Three of them, specifically.”
The corded bracelet on his wrist is rough as it rubs my chin, the W-shaped pendant catching my attention. Another reminder that my impulses aren’t to be trusted.
“If we do this, we do this. Dive into fantasy a hundred and ten percent, and we don’t let up until both of us get what we want.”
It feels like an elephant sits on my chest, crushing my lungs beneath its weight. “Okay…”
“We’ll move you out of Primrose Manor.”
My eyebrows shoot to my hairline. “We said nothing about living arrangements—”
“We’re saying it now. It’s already a far-fetched story. The idea of a whirlwind courtship is much more feasible if we live together. Gives us time to fabricate stories and a connection. The public will eat it up, and more importantly, well…” He trails off with a shrug. “Your father will hate it.”
Most likely, he won’t allow it. But I’m not in much of a position to argue. “Do you even have room for another person in your house?”
“We won’t be staying in my house, love. Far too many things for you to see that you have no business shoving your nose in.”
“I know what you do for a living.”
“No, you only think you know. I can assure you that whatever morsels of gossip about my life you’ve been fed over the years, they’re either greatly exaggerated or completely off the mark.”
Someone shuffles past us, knocking into Jonas as they stumble to the bathroom; he slides closer, lining the hard ridges of his body with the soft contours of mine, and I don’t exactly hate the way it feels.
I don’t love it, though, either, and find myself trying to disappear into the wall behind me.