With This Ring (To Have And To Hold Duet #1) - Natasha Knight Page 0,63
me like that into the wall?”’
“Count yourself lucky I didn’t shoot first then investigate,” he says rather than answering me.
I look at him. He’s naked from the waist up and I see blood, just a trace of it, high on the inside of his left arm.
“I asked you a question,” he says.
“I—” I look at the gun in his hand and my mouth goes dry.
Shoot first. Jesus. He’d have done that? Is he that wound up? Am I surprised? He was just attacked at a public event.
He tucks the pistol out of sight into the back of his jeans and looks me over, forehead furrowing. I wonder if that’s because of my clothing choice.
“What are you doing down here?” he asks again, meeting my eyes, his a little unfocused.
“I,” I start but stop. He’s close enough that I smell whiskey on his breath. “Are you drunk?”
He gives me his signature growl. I swear he’s part caveman. Then he steps back, stumbling once before turning to glance at me, then away again. He walks back to his study.
“Hey. I asked you a question.” I follow him but he’s worlds away. When we enter the study, I see the nearly empty bottle of whiskey on his desk.
“You almost killed me. You owe me an answer.”
He turns to me, eyebrows raised like he’s surprised but there’s something else. Something off. He’s distracted, like he was earlier when he got that message on his phone.
“I don’t owe you anything,” he says.
“You pulled a gun on me.”
“You’re supposed to be in bed. What are you doing down here?”
“I wanted to see my brother.”
He shakes his head. “You are so fucking stubborn. Do you know that?”
“I’ve been told a time or two.” I fold my arms across my chest.
He looks me over again. “I bought you clothes. Nice clothes. What the fuck is this?”
“You said if I need anything, I should add it to your order.”
“I didn’t mean this. Don’t wear it again. And go to bed. Don’t fucking come out of your room again like that. I could have fucking killed you.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be walking around with a loaded gun while drunk. If I’m going to have to marry you and live here with you—”
“We’re not playing house, Scarlett.”
“If I’m going to live here with you,” I start again, “We need to get a few things straight. First—”
I never get to finish though. Or even start, really. He’s on me so fast I’m still taking a breath in to continue speaking. The door slams shut, and I’m pressed against it, Cristiano against me, one hand in my hair tugging my head back and the other sliding under my hoodie to close around the curve of my hip.
“Do you ever just shut up?” he growls the question into my mouth before he kisses me so hard, all I can do is suck in his whiskey breath and feel his soft lips. “You shouldn’t have come down here,” he says, kissing me harder, pushing my pants down just far enough that they slip off my hips and pool around my ankles. “You’re going to make me do things you don’t want me to do.”
My eyelids fly open to find his eyes on me as he slips his hand between my legs and cups the crotch of my panties.
I gasp.
We stand there like that for a long minute just staring at each other. My hands rest on his chest but don’t push him away. He’s about an inch from my face, barely, and he looks fucked up. Not angry. Something else. Just messed up.
“You shouldn’t have come down here,” he growls again.
“Let me go and I’ll go away.”
“Too late for that,” he pauses, his fingers moving a little. “I haven’t had a woman in ten years.”
I swallow and push against him, knowing I won’t be able to budge him, still not sure I want to.
He moves his hand a little, sliding it up over my panties and to my belly. The pads of his fingers are rough against my skin. My hands curl around his shoulders but I’m not sure if it’s to hurt him, to get him off me, or what. But if I’m hurting the shoulder he dislocated, he doesn’t seem to care.
“Ten years,” he repeats.
He slips his hand into the waistband of my panties and I gasp as his fingers curl into the little mound of hair there, then down. Down to my sex. A sound comes from deep inside his chest. Something animal.