shakes in the frame. As soon as I hear footsteps approaching, I retreat, wood shard in hand.
The maid pushes the door open, the same lady from before. Her gaze falls to the ruined vase, her hands fall to her sides, then her mouth falls open.
She darts for the door, but nuh-uh, I’m quicker.
I drop my weapon and sprint. This time, I don’t miss the stairs, leaping them two at a time. But this place really is absurdly big. I run past a gym, locked, an office with a large oak desk and an old record player, a fricking conference room, two kitchens—very fancy; I have to force myself to turn away—two living rooms, a … and I’m not kidding here … a poker room and a movie theater.
Finally, I reach what appears to be the front door.
Heart hammering a tune in my ears, I reach for the handle, but before I can grab it, the door opens inward and Carlo walks in. From the deathly look on his face, I guess he already knows I ran. Cameras?
For once, his dark hair isn’t slicked back. It falls across his forehead, making him look younger. His eyes are bright with something—laughter? rage? I can’t tell—as he grabs me by the arm. He smells like sweat and man.
“Were you going to jump over the walls?” he asks, laughing as he drags me to the nearest room: another living room, with a flat-screen TV and two corner couches. “How many times do I have to tell you—”
“This is for my own good?” I pull my arm away from him. “Maybe once or twice more, to be honest, because it doesn’t fucking feel like it.”
“You walk outside those walls,” he says, “alone, unprotected, and within two days you’ll be strung up in a damp basement being tortured, or worse, by an Irish animal. Is that what you want?”
“Sounds like my problem, not yours!” I snap. “My choice to make.”
He smiles cynically. “You want to choose to die?” He grabs my arm again.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
“Taking you back to your room—where you’re safe.”
“Don’t worry.” I give him a shove, but he’s like a big, sexy, infuriating boulder. He doesn’t budge an inch. “I haven’t forgotten how to walk.”
He trails me all the way back as I stomp up the stairs, standing close, like my shadow. The maid must have heard us coming, because she bustles out without a backwards glance.
I turn to Carlo to leave him with some choice parting words. But before I can get them out of my mouth, I feel his hands on me. One on my hip, tugging me close to him, and the other one on my throat, pushing me back against the doorframe, possessive and forceful.
I can’t help it; I let out a gasp. That gasp quickly turns into a moan as his hand slides up my bare leg. I feel manic and flushed from the run. Part of me wants to push him away, but it feels good, that’s the blunt truth. It feels really good.
With a whirl, he spins me around and marches me inside, kicking the door shut behind him, his hands never leaving me. The one on my throat pulls me into him, the one on my center keeps toying, wedged against my center so that the fabric of my shorts grinds up and down my lips with each step deeper into the ruined bedroom.
I manage to rasp out, “Having fun there, pervert? I don’t remember saying you could touch me.”
His growl is low and guttural, his lips right against my ear. I can feel the stubble on his jaw scraping lightly against the delicate skin of my neck. “I don’t remember you saying I could not.”
“Oh, so that’s the game we’re playing, is it?” I twist away from him and dart my hand out, grabbing his meaty package far harder than is necessary. “So I guess this is mine whenever I want it.”
I squeeze even harder. A wince moves across his face. It brings me twisted pleasure.
I yelp when he grabs my hips and lifts me into the air. He carries me to the bed, tossing me down. I flip to my hands and knees. I make to spin on him but he places his forearm across the broad of my back.
“You need to be punished,” he says, stroking his hand over my waiting ass cheeks.
My body quivers.
My lust explodes.
I reach back and gouge my fingernails into his side. He grabs my arm,