I told you to.” Taking a step back, giving me the perfect range, he raises his glass. “Do it.”
I don’t know why, but I don’t think he’s tricking me. I don’t think he’ll beat me black and blue if I strike him. He’s figuring me out. So, I do something I’ve never dared do before. I hit a man, and I do it without one concern that I might be brutally punished in return. My arm moves as quick as his, my strike accurate and hard. It’s like a lifetime’s worth of stress lifts from my shoulders, a million slaps saved for this moment. It’s as if he knows I needed it more than I realize myself.
My slap is deafening, my palm against his skin exploding. And not because it stings. But because . . . contact. He hardly moves a millimeter. It’s like hitting a brick wall, and he has the exact same reaction as I did when he slapped my face.
No reaction at all.
Retracting my hand, we stare at each other for a while, until he eventually downs the last of his drink, never taking his eyes off mine. “Just like someone I used to know,” he murmurs.
His riddle frustrates me. Yet I do what I’m so good at: hide my emotion. Although my curiosity can’t be held back. “Why do you want the marina so bad?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“Since you’ve taken me as security, I’d say it is my concern.” I have no idea where this boldness has come from. I’m playing the devil’s advocate.
His eyes flash, as if hell could be right there in their depths. It probably is. “I don’t discuss business with the latest whore I’m fucking.”
I barely hold back my inhale. “You haven’t fucked me,” I point out, doing nothing but making him smile. It’s probably not escaped his notice that I didn’t refute his other label. Whore. That, I am.
“You want to change that?” he asks.
“No.”
“Liar.” His hand is around my throat in a split second, and a second after that, I’m pushed against a wall with his gorgeous lips practically brushing mine. Not reaching forward and tasting them takes more willpower than I ever thought I’d need in my life. His hold of my neck isn’t hard. I can breathe perfectly well.
But I can’t.
He flexes his hips forward, making sure I feel his condition past his trousers. “How would Perry feel if I plunged my cock into that sweet cunt of yours?”
Fuck.
He’s solid. Throbbing.
My stable mind scrambles for a few moments, trying to remember what he just asked. How would Perry feel? Devastated. He thinks I’m his. But I’m not. And I can’t be Danny Black’s either, not in any capacity. No matter how turned on he has me. It’s fucked-up. He’s callous. Cruel. I’ve never lusted after a man. Never wished with every fiber of my being that a man would fuck me because I wanted him to. It’s always been done out of necessity or because I was forced. But now. Oh, now. It’s backward. Of all the men I’ve encountered, I should be scared of this one the most. But the only fear I feel anymore is fear for my son. I only know how to survive and to ensure his survival. And I will survive.
I’m unintentionally reacting to Black. Not just externally for him to see, but internally for me to feel. I don’t feel. I don’t know what to do with feelings. I’m trying to hide it, yet I’ve no doubt he’s detected my swallows against his palm where he has me pinned by my throat.
He eventually releases me, stepping away, giving me space I didn’t ask for. Then the slow formation of a smirk spreads across his face before he turns and walks out. I’m left staggered that he manages to leave, because I’ll be damned if I could have. He paralyzed me. The energy between us was . . .
No.
I look around the room, wondering . . . what now? My answer comes quickly. I open my purse and get my phone to let Nox know that Perry, apparently, has a new funder and Black has him held to ransom. Oh, and that I’ve been taken as security until Perry delivers on the marina.
I find “Mom” in my cell contacts, but my thumb doesn’t make it to the call icon before my phone is snatched from my grasp. I look up and find Black glaring down at the screen, and my heart starts beating