cousin, and I sure as hell didn’t know he was going to show up here tonight. This man has me so discombobulated, I’m literally spewing lies at this point.
He rolls his wide, muscled shoulders back, and I have to stifle a visual of my legs slung over them. The taunting images of those sharp, intelligent eyes studying me, as he brings me to an agonizingly slow climax, are just about enough to give me second thoughts, but I won’t give in. Not to this man who would likely devour my submission and leave nothing but raw, aching bones to spit out.
“If you’ll excuse me, chère, I need to get back to my game. I trust you know the way out.”
“Oh, I do.” The urge to scream tugs hard at my throat. Never has a man so calmly worked my nerves, while simultaneously making me question myself.
Watching him walk off with that naturally cocky swagger is the final slap to my face, and as my teeth grind jags of pain into my skull, I tromp back up those damn stairs, every step counting off the many times I’d have probably climaxed beneath the asshole.
The fact that he still wins, even after my rejection, is the most enraging part of it all, and by the time I push through the door, I’m one orgasmic count away from punching someone in the face. How convenient that the bouncer happens to step into my line of view at this very moment.
“I take it your meeting went well.”
“Look, Troll, I’m going to level with you. Y’all done pissed me off, so I suggest you back up, because you do not mess with an angry woman. Especially when you’ve stolen her beloved fucking knife.” Without another word, I slip beneath his outstretched arm, and hear him chuckle after me.
Asshole.
I’m a raging ball of fire, waiting to explode. Halfway to the truck, I pause, contemplating if I should go back in there and interrupt his game. “No,” I mutter to myself, taking a few more steps and stop again. “Yes, I absolutely should.” Twisting on my heel, I take a pathetic two-step march in the direction from where I just came, but the unyielding look on Troll Boy’s face brings me to a screeching stop.
A scream climbs the back of my throat, my hands balled into fists so tight, my nails dig into my palms.
I hate you, Thierry Bergeron. I hate you!
I want to spit those words in his face, but the asshole would probably laugh and say something seductive in that disgustingly sexy Valir accent he only seems to pull out when we’re alone. Like the hustling little charmer knows its disarming powers.
On a growl, I twist back around toward my truck and hold my breath until I slam the door shut, then exhale a scream. It’s not just a matter of the knife, the only gift Russ ever really gave me, besides some cheesy-looking socks at Christmas and the crossbow I just sold that he claimed was only mine when he wasn’t using it. It’s the fact that Thierry duped me. Made me feel as stupid as I probably looked, standing there all slack-jawed and shocked. And I can’t ignore the nagging possibility that if I’d cooled down another twenty seconds, I might’ve taken him up on his ridiculous offer. That reality only adds fuel to the piss and fire burning inside of me right now.
With bullets of hate still shooting through my veins, I crank the key and rev the gas, tires squealing as I tear out of the parking lot. In the rearview, I catch a glimpse of the Troll standing just outside the door, watching me leave, and I stick my arm out the window to flip him off. Not the most gracious exit I’ve ever made, but that’s the effect this man has on me.
The drive back to the house is fraught with the confusion of not remembering the route to the bar earlier tonight. Another bout of sleepwalking, maybe, but how the hell did I not kill myself? Might be a good idea to stay away from the pills for a couple days, give my head a chance to clear the fog a little.
Trees loom across the long drive, like old men staring down at me, as the truck creeps along the dirt path to the house. A glance to the side shows the tire tracks embedded in the grass, where I must’ve hit the gas too hard. The woods