jumped up, cursing him. “You arrogant bastard! Who the hel said you could sleep with me? Wel , hold me like that?” she amended, recognizing the bed was his and the night before he’d told her in no uncertain terms he was sharing it with her no matter how she tried to talk him out of it.
Unmoved, Daemon looked contemptibly smug and didn’t say a word. His darkened eyes watched her, his sable hair fanned across the pil ow. Annoyingly ful of himself, his wel -sculpted chest exposed, he propped his head against his arms. The black satin sheet caressed the hard muscles of his lower body. His prominent arousal snagged her attention for a second glance, though she chided herself for looking…twice. She stormed to the bedroom door barefoot.
“I need my boots. Your brother took them from me,” she ground out. She grabbed the handle of the door to the hal way and twisted. Locked .
“Couldn’t we at least start this late wakeup with an agreeable good morning? It’s a shame not to enjoy morning pleasantries, is it not?” Dark honeyed words spoken like a lure to draw his prey in, but his bedroom charms wouldn’t work on her. Much.
“Let…me…out…of…here,” she snarled, every word laced with fire.
“You said the cel ar gave you claustrophobia.” He waved his hand, and the curtains parted to reveal French patio doors opening onto a balcony.
“Being with you gives me claustrophobia.”
He pul ed the covers aside and stood. Her mouth dropped when she saw the beautiful length of him, er, rather, the tal ness and hardness of his whole body. The shirt he had worn the night before must have been from an earlier wardrobe of his because he definitely had the build of a wel -muscled pirate who hoisted sails for a living. And, no doubt, he’d raped, pil aged and plundered along the way.
She waved at the bed. “You said you’d protect me. Is this what you cal protection?”
A slow smile gave him a predatory look, his nearly black eyes sparkling while he tied his hair back in a tail with a black leather strap, but he didn’t make any attempt to dress.
She knew the look of madness in his eyes, the lust and the overwhelming urge to feed, to satisfy his hunger.
“You haven’t fed in a while,” she guessed, moving toward the patio door, keeping him in her sights as she backed up, wishing she was armed.
He advanced with the sleekness of a panther, his muscles rippling as he flexed them, his lips stil curved up at the corners. “I have many questions I wish answered, Tezra.”
The way he said her name sounded like he was attempting to draw her to him—to feed—hypnotic, wil ing the victim with words cloaked in black velvet.
“I didn’t think you were the kil er until you walked into my apartment. Why else would you have been there?”
“How did you know my name?”
“You told me.”
He cocked a dark brow and stopped.
“You thought it. I read your mind.”
He lifted his chin.
A lightbulb moment?
“Listen, you protected me in your way last night,” she said, frowning, “and I want to—” she nearly choked on the words after being held against her wil , “—thank you, but I have work to do, so just—” she bumped into the patio door with her backside and reached for the doorknob, “—get my boots back for me, and we’l cal it even.”
“What are you afraid of?”
His voice held no animosity toward her, only craving, desire and bloodlust raging through his system. She swal owed hard, and her skin tingled with anxiousness. Itching to have a sword in her hand, or the retractable knives fastened at her wrists, she mental y cursed Bernard for disarming her.
“I’m afraid of nothing,” she lied and hoped Daemon couldn’t tel . She tried the patio doorknob. Locked .
“Your voice trembles.”
Here she thought she had her traitorous voice under control.
He skirted the bed, taking his time to reach her, showing off his wares that she attempted not to take account of…too much.
He
Unmoved, Daemon looked contemptibly smug and didn’t say a word. His darkened eyes watched her, his sable hair fanned across the pil ow. Annoyingly ful of himself, his wel -sculpted chest exposed, he propped his head against his arms. The black satin sheet caressed the hard muscles of his lower body. His prominent arousal snagged her attention for a second glance, though she chided herself for looking…twice. She stormed to the bedroom door barefoot.
“I need my boots. Your brother took them from me,” she ground out. She grabbed the handle of the door to the hal way and twisted. Locked .
“Couldn’t we at least start this late wakeup with an agreeable good morning? It’s a shame not to enjoy morning pleasantries, is it not?” Dark honeyed words spoken like a lure to draw his prey in, but his bedroom charms wouldn’t work on her. Much.
“Let…me…out…of…here,” she snarled, every word laced with fire.
“You said the cel ar gave you claustrophobia.” He waved his hand, and the curtains parted to reveal French patio doors opening onto a balcony.
“Being with you gives me claustrophobia.”
He pul ed the covers aside and stood. Her mouth dropped when she saw the beautiful length of him, er, rather, the tal ness and hardness of his whole body. The shirt he had worn the night before must have been from an earlier wardrobe of his because he definitely had the build of a wel -muscled pirate who hoisted sails for a living. And, no doubt, he’d raped, pil aged and plundered along the way.
She waved at the bed. “You said you’d protect me. Is this what you cal protection?”
A slow smile gave him a predatory look, his nearly black eyes sparkling while he tied his hair back in a tail with a black leather strap, but he didn’t make any attempt to dress.
She knew the look of madness in his eyes, the lust and the overwhelming urge to feed, to satisfy his hunger.
“You haven’t fed in a while,” she guessed, moving toward the patio door, keeping him in her sights as she backed up, wishing she was armed.
He advanced with the sleekness of a panther, his muscles rippling as he flexed them, his lips stil curved up at the corners. “I have many questions I wish answered, Tezra.”
The way he said her name sounded like he was attempting to draw her to him—to feed—hypnotic, wil ing the victim with words cloaked in black velvet.
“I didn’t think you were the kil er until you walked into my apartment. Why else would you have been there?”
“How did you know my name?”
“You told me.”
He cocked a dark brow and stopped.
“You thought it. I read your mind.”
He lifted his chin.
A lightbulb moment?
“Listen, you protected me in your way last night,” she said, frowning, “and I want to—” she nearly choked on the words after being held against her wil , “—thank you, but I have work to do, so just—” she bumped into the patio door with her backside and reached for the doorknob, “—get my boots back for me, and we’l cal it even.”
“What are you afraid of?”
His voice held no animosity toward her, only craving, desire and bloodlust raging through his system. She swal owed hard, and her skin tingled with anxiousness. Itching to have a sword in her hand, or the retractable knives fastened at her wrists, she mental y cursed Bernard for disarming her.
“I’m afraid of nothing,” she lied and hoped Daemon couldn’t tel . She tried the patio doorknob. Locked .
“Your voice trembles.”
Here she thought she had her traitorous voice under control.
He skirted the bed, taking his time to reach her, showing off his wares that she attempted not to take account of…too much.
He
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