The Outlaw Prince's Captive - Holly Rayner Page 0,50

didn’t want to.

Slowly, he lifted his hand and trailed the backs of his fingers down her jawline.

Francesca lost her breath.

“Can we go back to your apartment?” Viggo asked, his voice low and gravelly.

Francesca knew that he wasn’t just asking whether or not they could walk the eight blocks back to the apartment.

He was asking about what they could do when they got there.

“Yes,” she said. “I think that’s a good idea.”

She didn’t think it was a good idea. She thought it was a questionable idea at best. But she was also incapable of resisting him any longer.

They seemed to float the entire way home. Francesca kept waiting for the surreal bubble around them to pop, for logic and common sense to set in, but it never happened, and eventually they reached her apartment building. She opened the door and let them in.

As soon as they were in the lobby of the building, his mouth was on hers again. He backed her up against the wall, kissing her fervently, restlessly, his hands moving from her waist up her back.

“Wait,” she gasped, holding him off with one hand. “Wait. We have to get upstairs.”

He growled low in his throat and nibbled gently at her neck. “Why don’t you have an elevator in this building?”

“Do you want to talk about elevators? Or do you want to take me up the stairs?”

The answer was obvious. He took her by the hand and set off up the stairs at a pace that was nearly a run. Francesca followed along in his wake, only too happy to be led, and opened the door to her apartment when they arrived.

Smiling at him, she held out a hand and drew him inside after her.

Chapter 18

Francesca returned to consciousness slowly, her dreams shifting seamlessly into wakefulness. Even when she had reached full awareness, she kept her eyes closed, remembering the events of the night before, a slow smile spreading across her face as she did so.

It was hard to believe that it had happened. Even as it had been happening, it had been hard to believe. Could Viggo—the same Viggo who had appeared in the tabloids with so many different women, who could have any woman he wanted—really be here with her?

Of course, it’s not like he could get any woman he wanted right now. The grin began to fade from her face. He’s trapped in my house. I’m the only option available to him.

Maybe he had only gone for her because there had been no one else.

She didn’t want to believe that. It had felt so meaningful while it had been happening. The way he had stared into her eyes the whole time. The way he had stroked her cheek gently, as though marveling at every detail of her. No man she had ever been with in the past had treated her that way.

But of course, it stood to reason that Viggo was a good lover. He certainly had enough experience under his belt.

Maybe I shouldn’t have let this happen. Maybe I was too hasty.

She opened her eyes and sat up slowly, feeling the cold of reality returning to her.

Viggo was still asleep in bed behind her, and she longed to roll over and nestle into his arms, to live in the world of fantasy a little longer. But she knew she couldn’t. She had to keep a level head. There was too much at stake.

She went into the kitchen. Maybe this morning she would make him breakfast instead of the other way around. Francesca wasn’t much of a cook, but it didn’t take any great cooking skill to throw a few ingredients into a pan and fry them up. She could make breakfast skillets.

She was at the refrigerator, pulling out a variety of cheeses, when her phone rang in the pocket of her robe.

She frowned. Who would be calling her first thing in the morning? Especially given that she was supposed to be overseas right now. She pulled out the phone and looked at the screen.

Voles.

She bit her lip. He believed she was still snowbound at Viggo’s house, and that was the story she would have to stick to. She answered the call.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Bellucci,” Voles barked, “report to the station immediately.”

“I—what?” Her mind raced, trying to catch up. “You want me to fly back?”

“Don’t give me any of your crap,” he said. “I know you’re not in Konäs. You’re back in New York. Be at the station in twenty minutes or I’m sending an agent to