“Sorry, babe. That’s Lee’s tone,” Luke whispered, hand at my jaw, thumb running along my lower lip. One thing you could say, he did sound sorry, very sorry. But I didn’t care that he sounded sorry, I didn’t care at all.
He flipped open the phone. “Yeah?”
This was not happening.
He listened for a few beats then said, “I’ll be there in ten.”
What?
He flipped the phone shut.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I breathed, half-still turned on, half-totally pissed off, not just at him but at myself.
“Lee’s workin’. He’s in a situation where he needs backup. The boys on call are busy with somethin’ else. I gotta go,” Luke told me.
I glared at him not knowing what to think.
He looked at me, likely sensing my mental battle to decide how I felt that he’d leave me in this state to go do backup for Lee so he said softly, “No way I’d leave, Ava, but Lee needs a man at his back. He knows you’re here and wouldn’t call unless it was important. I have to go.”
Fuck that.
I kept glaring at him. He ignored the glare and touched my mouth with his then moved away.
Then things, already bad, got worse.
He pulled the covers over my body but left me cuffed to the bed. Then he got up and started dressing. In stunned, angry silence, I watched him pull on his pants then tug on his shirt. He sat on the edge of the bed to put on his boots.
Finally I called, “Luke?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you forget something?” I asked.
“What?”
“Uncuff me.”
He tugged on his second boot, twisted toward me and put his lips to my jaw. “Quick, three things,” he said there.
I got the feeling that these three things weren’t going to be good for me. My body, already solid with fury, felt like it was going to shatter in a million pieces.
He lifted his head but kept his face close to mine, his hand at my belly over the covers. “One,” he started. “Leavin’ you cuffed means you can’t do anything stupid.”
One, two, three, four…
“Two,” he continued. “I like thinkin’ of you cuffed na**d to my bed.”
Five, six, seven, eight…
“Three,” he went on. “This won’t take long and we’ll finish when I get back.”
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…
Nope, it wasn’t going to work.
“You leave me cuffed, I’ll never speak to you again,” I told him.
“Babe,” now he sounded amused, “that’s a good thing. You got a mouth on you.”