The Brit

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  His face is impassive when I find him, his long, thick fingers on his shirt buttons. He’s going to make me watch him undress. I hate him more. Every inch of his skin that’s revealed takes more and more of the air in my lungs until he gets to his trousers and I’m left holding my breath. His torso is impossibly hard. His thighs are impossibly thick. His legs are impossibly long and lean. He’s a fucking masterpiece. A deadly masterpiece. I breathe in deeply.

  I have to sleep with this.

  I despise him.

  He walks to the bed and pulls the covers back, exposing my naked form to his eyes. My body has never been my own so if he’s expecting me to try and hide, he’ll be disappointed. Yet I see no disappointment on his face. I see nothing, actually. Not even appreciation. His expression is blank, and that strips me of the little power I have in my life. My body is my only weapon, and he seems immune to it.

  Sliding in smoothly, he lies on his back. There’s a foot between us, but it feels like just a millimeter. I’m on fire. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand the insane, uncontrollable, mysterious pull. Why? I should be overjoyed that some feelings have been uncovered. Overjoyed that I’m apparently not completely emotionally dead. But all these reactions are for a man I should not be reacting to. The strange mixture of wariness and desire is playing havoc with my mind.

  I flip myself onto my side, my back to him, staring ahead at the wall. And then there’s suddenly no wall to look at. Just darkness. He’s turned off the lights.

  I’m so tense, there’s not a hope in hell of me getting any sleep. Not when he’s in bed with me. How long will I have to be here? How long before I’m taken back to where I belong? How long until Nox finds me?

  The mattress beneath me dips, and my body rolls with it. He’s moving, and I hold my breath, waiting for . . . what?

  Will he touch me? Climb on top of me? Force me? And will I fight him if he does?

  His bare foot brushes mine. It’s just a foot, but his skin on mine isn’t a simple touch. It’s an inferno, raging and screaming. My tense body swiftly shifts into brittle territory. I’m going to break. He slides his foot across mine, and no matter how desperate I am to whip mine away, I don’t. I’m not sure whether it’s that thing ingrained into me to do what’s expected of me, or the fact that I like his skin on mine. I like the inferno. I like the burn. Those thoughts have me pulling away before I can stop myself, my mind in meltdown. Of all the people on this planet I could chose to defy or be attracted to, Danny Black should be the last on the list. Yet my natural instinct to comply is shifting. It also might save my life. As long as Black doesn’t kill me first.

  “You don’t like me touching you?” His voice is soft yet hard, and it has me clenching my eyes and burying my face in the pillow.

  Yes. I hate it because I love it.

  “No.”

  “Liar,” he claims, not for the first time. “So if I put my hand here.” His palm lands on my naked hip, and I squeeze my eyes closed into the pillow, battling my way through the torture. “You don’t like it?”

  “Get your hands off me,” I spit, and he does. It surprises me.

  “Remember I told you that you reminded me of someone?” His question, which is soft and quiet, has my anger shrinking and my body slowly turning over to face him. I can see him, not clearly, but he’s looking at me, his eyes shining in the darkness. “Yes.”

  “That person was saved.” Without warning, he moves, pushing me to my back and spreading his body all over mine. He doesn’t pin me down, simply lays his palms over my arms that are above my head. The weight of him is intimidating and exhilarating all at once. Every naked piece of him is touching me. My body isn’t the only thing to go up in smoke. So does my mind. “You haven’t been saved,” he whispers, his nose skimming mine. “Yet,” he adds, knocking me further off balance with a grind of his hips. “What’s your name, baby?”

  “Rose.” I deliver my answer on a mere whisper, and I sense more than see his smile.

  “Get some sleep, Rose.” He dips and kisses the corner of my mouth. “You’re going to need some energy to keep resisting me.”

  And then he’s off my body.

  And I’m missing the feel of his sinful weight immediately.

  Chapter 7

  DANNY

  * * *

  You haven’t been saved. Yet.

  And what? I’m going to save her? I shake my head to myself as I lie in bed next to her, watching her. She’s curled up on her side, as far away from me as she can get, her back to me. One poke in her shoulder would have her tumbling out of bed.

  The dark waves of her hair fan the stark white pillow; her hair tie is loose and has nearly worked its way to the end. I reach forward without thought and pull it free. I see her shoulders rise, just a fraction, and I smile to myself. She’s awake but pretending not to be. The kid in me that never really existed appears from nowhere, showing up to the party years too late. I take the sheet that’s pulled up under her arms and peel it down her body, slowly, softly, exposing the full length of her spine. The morning light is dusky through the blinds, hazy and slight, but I still see the nasty bruise. And my morning mind is a little foggy, but I still feel rage fuzzing my head. The black mass stretches from one side of her back to the other, just above two cute dimples that sit a fraction above her arse. It’s not old, not yellowed or purple. It’s solid black. Fresh.

  I reach forward and glide a soft fingertip across the battered planes of her lower back. She tenses, and I look at the back of her head. Who did this to her? What the fuck do I care? She’s a whore with a mouth on her. Doesn’t mean she should be fucking beaten . . .

  I quickly take back my hand and swing my legs off the bed, sitting up. I need to get in the gym and burn off some of this . . . weirdness.

  As I stand, my phone lights up on the nightstand. It’s 6 a.m.

  Swiping it up, I pull on my boxers. “Morning, Perry.”

  “Please don’t hurt her.” He gets straight to the point, not ashamed to hide his feelings now he’s not in public. “She’s delicate.”

  I have to force myself not to laugh. Delicate? She might look it, but the woman in my bed is as hard as nails. A warrior. That bruise, though. Adams? Did he do it? The American public think he’s the perfect, enviable family man, but I know otherwise. He’s a shrewd businessman, isn’t scared to dip a toe in the darkness to get what he wants, hence his association with me. But would he beat a woman? I don’t think so. “Don’t tell me what to do, Perry. Besides, look at it like this. I’m doing you a favor. ”

  “How?”

  “You want to be mayor. I want you to be mayor. Parading around with your whore a few paces behind in public, Perry? That’s a sure-fire way to fuck it all up, you dumb arse.”

  “I’m careful.”

  “Really? How do I have her then?”

  He’s silent for a few moments, probably regretting calling me now, at the same time wondering how the fuck he got in this mess. “It’s just . . . she dreams.” He breathes out. “I don’t know what about, but she’s restless.”

  Restless? “She slept pretty soundly in my bed last night,” I say, reaching the door and swinging it open. I look back over my shoulder and find she’s sat up in bed, the sheets a messy puddle around her waist. She’s watching me through her sleepy eyes. “Are you going to want your precious girl back once I’ve pinned her down and fucked every hole she has?” Rose’s face doesn’t falter, but Perry gasps, and I smile wickedly, knowing he believes a callous arsehole like me is capable of such a thing. I’m not. It’s the only thing people have wrong about me. I would never take a woman against her will. I’m depraved, but I’m not a fucking monster. “You know, I’ve had a change of heart,” I go on. “Take your time with the marina. I’ve got something to keep me busy.” I hang up and back out of the room, keeping my serious eyes on hers until the wood comes between us.

  * * *

  I hit the hotel gym, but not before the whole place has been cleared out by my
men. Generally, most people don’t need to be asked to leave. They take one look at me, then my entourage, and decide they’ve suddenly burned enough calories for the day, making a swift exit. Then you get the odd twat, like the man currently using the bench press. As if to make a point, he adds a further 50 kilos to each end of the bar before resuming his reps. And to make my point, I pull the Glock from Brad’s holster and aim it at his head. “I work out alone.”

  Poor bastard nearly crushes his big, meaty chest when he loses his focus, almost dropping the bar mid-rise. For a giant, he moves fucking fast, shutting the door behind him. “Better.” I hand Brad back his gun and pull my T-shirt up over my head as my men move to all the doorways, ensuring my peace is maintained. “Joining me?” I ask my right-hand man, taking the fifties off the bar that the gorilla just added. I’m strong, but I have no point to prove.

  Brad motions down his suit. “I worked out at five. I thought you’d skip it this morning given the circumstances.”

  I lie on the bench and grasp the bar, lifting it from its resting place, straightening my arms. “And what circumstances would they be?” I take the bar down steadily, appreciating the instant strain on my tight muscles.

  Brad is standing over me now, looking down at me as I push out fifteen reps, each one smooth and consistent. “Fresh pussy in your bed.”

  “I didn’t fuck her.”

  “Why?” His question is quick, and it catches me off guard.

  I replace the bar and take a breather. “She’s not here for my pleasure.”

  “But it wouldn’t hurt to take some, right?”

  “I don’t want any.”

  “Do I look like I’m buying that?”

  “You should.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll put a bullet between your motherfucking eyes.” I take the bar again as Brad chuckles. He doesn’t stop laughing the whole time I’m pushing out another fifteen reps.

  “I think for the first time in your life, you haven’t a fucking clue what you’re doing,” he says in a tone laced with humor that makes me want to smash his fucking face in.

  “I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m doing everything I can to ensure we get that marina and Adams in power. That’s what I’m fucking doing, and the woman is going to help make that happen. I don’t know what the fuck Adams was thinking, risking his campaign by dragging his whore around town with him.”

  “How about what the fuck was he thinking trying to fob you off? Or is the woman trumping that? Like I said, I don’t think you know what you’re doing.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  “And how the hell is not fucking her gonna change that?”

  “Shut the fuck up, Brad,” I grate, wondering the very same thing. It’s a game. One I can’t help playing with her. Women always want to fuck me. Whatever their reasons are, I couldn’t give a fuck. Money, power, protection. They get none of those things. Rose is going out of her way to prove that she doesn’t want to fuck me. And that turns me the fuck on. Like nothing else.

  “She’s refusing you,” Brad says quietly, knowing my story, the only person alive who does. He knows I would never take a woman against her will.

  “Her mouth is. Her body isn’t.”

  “Be careful, Danny.” He knows the game I’m playing is dangerous. Women only make our hazardous world more deadly. For many reasons, least of all because they make men easy targets if they show a woman even a scrap of compassion. Just like Adams, and now he’s paying for it.

  “She’s bait. That’s all,” I affirm, getting on with my session.

  * * *

  Over the next hour, I smash ten ton of shit out of the punching bag, sprint 10 kilometers, and push weights until I feel like myself again. I grab the towel and wipe over my wet chest as I’m walked back up to the penthouse by my men. When I get to my bedroom, I hear the shower running and smile to myself, pacing to the bathroom and entering the steam-filled space. But no matter how foggy the air is, I still see her. Fuck, do I see her.

  That wasn’t a hitch of my breath I just felt. That was simply my heart rate trying to get back to normal after my mammoth workout. But I have to admit, the body currently under the spray is something of a vision. Wet. Firm. I rest my shoulder on the doorframe and watch as she swipes her hands through her wet hair. Her long waves conceal her bruise, but not those cute little dimples at the base of her spine. One on each side. Perfectly even. My eyes drift down, over her pert little arse to her legs—legs that go on for fucking days. Her face is pointed up to the spray, her eyes closed. She turns a fraction, revealing dark nipples that are soft under the warm water. And she’s humming. She’s humming like she could be happy. She’s fascinating me more every minute.

  Reaching forward, she flips the shower off and proceeds to squeeze the excess water from her hair, pulling it over one shoulder. The urge to demand she wipes the screen of all the water drops to better my view is hard to push back.

  She sees me. Stops humming. I expect her to lunge for a towel and cover herself. She doesn’t. She’s too distracted. I look down at my wet chest and smirk to myself. It seems I’m not the only one rapt.

  Pushing myself off the doorframe, I collect a towel from the wall-hung warmer by the shower and wander to the vanity unit, resting my arse against it.

  She steps out of the shower and faces me, bold and unabashed. And she just stands there. Wet and naked. I take my time, dragging my eyes over every inch of her tall, slender frame. She’s well groomed, the small patch of hair between her thighs a perfect dark strip. I didn’t expect anything less. On the outside, she’s perfection, yet I sense that on the inside she’s shattered. All this is a front, just like she’s fronting for Adams too. She’s young, beautiful. No wonder she can’t seem to control herself around me. I’m a stark contrast to that middle-aged, balding man she’s currently screwing.

  After an age of staring me down, making her point, she eyes the stack of towels within her reach. She could grab any one of them, but she won’t. She’s going to prove another point. Her dainty feet pad across the marble floor toward me, carrying her graceful body as elegantly as I’ve come to expect, and my dick pulses with every step she takes until she stops in front of me. She doesn’t take the towel in my hands. She’s waiting for me to cover her. I keep my face straight and devoid of the amusement I’m feeling. She fucking hates me and desires me all at once. Good.

  Then she licks her lips and my cock twitches behind my shorts like it’s been electrocuted. “Turn around,” I order, and she does, lifting her arms a little and resting her chin on her shoulder to look back at me. I wrap her in the towel and push my chest into her back, grazing her shoulder with my teeth, inhaling. “You smell like me.” She’s used my body wash, and, fuck me, if it doesn’t smell gorgeous on her.

  “I have nothing here, so I had to borrow yours.” She’s tense, though trying her hardest not to be. And then as brash as can fucking be, she subtly rolls her hips, compressing her arse into my groin. I hiss, unable to stop it.

  “Thank you.” She breaks away from me and strolls off, and in a moment of pure fucking weakness, I take hold of the sink and talk down my wayward cock, breathing my way through it. Fucking hell, if anyone could read my mind right now. Cold, ruthless killer being affected by a little woman. Where the fuck has she come from?

  With a quick swipe of my hand down my face, I follow her into the bedroom, finding her shimmying her black lace G-string up her legs. I swallow, my jaw tensing. For fuck’s sake. What the fuck am I doing to myself?

  I walk over and grab her hand, hauling her naked form out of my room. I expect resistance. I get none. She follows obediently, despite only having a small scrap of material covering her pussy.

  All the men look up as I yank her through the suite toward the office.

  “In here now,” I order them, positioning her at the side of the desk facing the door. On full show. Her hands hang by her sides. Her wet hair splays her shoulders. Her perfect breasts ri
se and fall with her even breathing. Steady breathing. Completely unaffected breathing.

  The men all enter, Brad the last, closing the door behind him. None of them look at her. It pisses me off. What, do they think I’ll have a problem with that? They know better than anyone that women mean shit to me. I shove her phone in her hand. “Call him. Tell him I’m in the shower.”

  She looks up at me through her lashes. “And what?”

  “Tell him you want to go back to him. Beg him. Tell him to pay the money he owes me so you can go back.”

  Her frown is slight, though I know Brad’s will be heavy as fuck. He knows I don’t want that money. What I want is results. I reach for the gun sitting on the desk and disengage the safety, pushing it into her forehead. “Do it.” She doesn’t bat a fucking eyelid, and that just angers me more. Why the hell isn’t she scared? Why the hell isn’t she having an epic meltdown while I’m displaying her naked body for all my men to see? Adams worships her. Really, that’s fucking obvious. He wouldn’t hurt her; it’s not his style. So what the fuck happened to her to make her so fucking impenetrable? And where the fucking hell did that bruise come from? “Cry,” I order.

  “I don’t cry.” She bores holes into me with a suddenly steely gaze. “Not for anyone.”

  I’d slap her face if I knew it’d have the desired effect. She doesn’t cry. The woman is iron. I move the gun to her mouth and force it past her lips, taking her throat with my spare hand. “Sound convincing.”

  What she does next has me caught between admiration and fucking fury. It has my dick screaming and my mind ready to explode. She pulls back, letting the gun slide from her mouth slowly and seductively. And eyes on mine, she kisses the tip. I hear the sounds of feet shuffling nervously behind me, all of my men probably talking down their hard dicks.