Read Online Walking The Edge: A Romantic Suspense/Espionage Thriller (Corpus Brides Trilogy Book 1) by Zee Monodee - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Zee Monodee
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force of his big body ploughed into her and knocked the breath out of her. Her mouth opened to scream with the pain, but more agony cut her vocal chords when she slammed into the hard, solid, cold brick wall. She squeezed her eyes shut with the pain.
His crouching body pinned her, his knees pressing hard against her thighs. His torso shifted, and she heard a click. When she opened her eyes, she found herself staring into the barrel of a gun.
Too close, darling. With one swipe, anyone could slap that gun away, the way he held it to her face. He better be prepared to release that trigger quickly if he hoped to do any damage.
And it looked like...a Sig Sauer Pro SP 2022.
Seriously? How did she know that ? She knew a gun was a gun, full stop. At least, she’d thought so...until right this moment. Specs about that particular model flooded her mind like a video pushed onto fast-forward.
“Who sent you?” he asked.
Forget about the gun ; she better focus on him. Murder lay clearly written on his features. Even in the dim surroundings, she couldn’t mistake the coiled tension in him. She let her frame relax, the pressure from his lower body pinning her even more as she sagged against the wall.
“You’re hurting me,” she said. A part of her remained aghast that she had a 9mm Parabellum semi-automatic pointed at her, yet another part already spun how she could extricate herself from her situation.
“I’ll do a damn lot more if you don’t start giving me some answers.”
Like what? His heat seeped into her from the front, the cold humidity of the bricks numbing her back and buttocks. The way he leaned on her, the bulge in the front of his trousers pressed against her core. Lord, he’s getting hard!
“Danger thrills you,” she said softly.
In reply, he moved the gun closer to her face, barely an inch away. She could lick the barrel if she wanted. An image of her tongue on his hard-on flitted through her mind.
Get a grip!
“I won’t ask you again.”
He thought someone sent her? For what? Damn it, more questions. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He gave a small, sardonic laugh. “Of course you don’t, sweetheart.”
He leaned down, bending his knees and crouching farther before her. He held one arm across her shoulders, his forearm crushing her throat. His breath fanned warm and moist on her face as he lowered his head to be at eye level with her. He stood tall, a good foot taller than her. With her thighs still immobilized, and with his arm cutting off her air supply, breathing became a feat. Her lips parted and she tried her best to inhale. But she managed nothing more than to catch a whiff of the spicy scent of his skin. Her senses swam, and then she froze when the cold tip of the gun pressed against her temple.
“Whoever he is,” the commissaire said in a husky whisper against her ear, “tell him a honey trap won’t work.”
He remained like that for what felt like forever. His raspy, rapid breaths echoed in her mind, merging with the sound of her own gasps. She was going numb, blackness engulfing her brain. She needed air.
Then, suddenly, he sprang off. She sagged, the flat of her hands sliding down the wall, the coarse brick chafing her sensitive palms while she forced air into her lungs.
You bastard , she couldn’t help but think while she struggled for breath. He’d moved out onto the main street, leaving her here in the darkened alleyway.
Who did he think he was? And who did he think she was? She hadn’t been sent to lure him. She just wanted some goddamned answers, for God’s sake.
Peeling herself off the wall, she took a step, then winced when pain shot through her thighs. The back of her coat hung damp, making her shiver when the cold seeped through to the camisole she wore under it.
He hits hard. A small smile touched her lips. No wonder he already sat on the top rungs of the ladder in the French police. Admiration grew in her, as well as some other emotion she couldn’t
His crouching body pinned her, his knees pressing hard against her thighs. His torso shifted, and she heard a click. When she opened her eyes, she found herself staring into the barrel of a gun.
Too close, darling. With one swipe, anyone could slap that gun away, the way he held it to her face. He better be prepared to release that trigger quickly if he hoped to do any damage.
And it looked like...a Sig Sauer Pro SP 2022.
Seriously? How did she know that ? She knew a gun was a gun, full stop. At least, she’d thought so...until right this moment. Specs about that particular model flooded her mind like a video pushed onto fast-forward.
“Who sent you?” he asked.
Forget about the gun ; she better focus on him. Murder lay clearly written on his features. Even in the dim surroundings, she couldn’t mistake the coiled tension in him. She let her frame relax, the pressure from his lower body pinning her even more as she sagged against the wall.
“You’re hurting me,” she said. A part of her remained aghast that she had a 9mm Parabellum semi-automatic pointed at her, yet another part already spun how she could extricate herself from her situation.
“I’ll do a damn lot more if you don’t start giving me some answers.”
Like what? His heat seeped into her from the front, the cold humidity of the bricks numbing her back and buttocks. The way he leaned on her, the bulge in the front of his trousers pressed against her core. Lord, he’s getting hard!
“Danger thrills you,” she said softly.
In reply, he moved the gun closer to her face, barely an inch away. She could lick the barrel if she wanted. An image of her tongue on his hard-on flitted through her mind.
Get a grip!
“I won’t ask you again.”
He thought someone sent her? For what? Damn it, more questions. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He gave a small, sardonic laugh. “Of course you don’t, sweetheart.”
He leaned down, bending his knees and crouching farther before her. He held one arm across her shoulders, his forearm crushing her throat. His breath fanned warm and moist on her face as he lowered his head to be at eye level with her. He stood tall, a good foot taller than her. With her thighs still immobilized, and with his arm cutting off her air supply, breathing became a feat. Her lips parted and she tried her best to inhale. But she managed nothing more than to catch a whiff of the spicy scent of his skin. Her senses swam, and then she froze when the cold tip of the gun pressed against her temple.
“Whoever he is,” the commissaire said in a husky whisper against her ear, “tell him a honey trap won’t work.”
He remained like that for what felt like forever. His raspy, rapid breaths echoed in her mind, merging with the sound of her own gasps. She was going numb, blackness engulfing her brain. She needed air.
Then, suddenly, he sprang off. She sagged, the flat of her hands sliding down the wall, the coarse brick chafing her sensitive palms while she forced air into her lungs.
You bastard , she couldn’t help but think while she struggled for breath. He’d moved out onto the main street, leaving her here in the darkened alleyway.
Who did he think he was? And who did he think she was? She hadn’t been sent to lure him. She just wanted some goddamned answers, for God’s sake.
Peeling herself off the wall, she took a step, then winced when pain shot through her thighs. The back of her coat hung damp, making her shiver when the cold seeped through to the camisole she wore under it.
He hits hard. A small smile touched her lips. No wonder he already sat on the top rungs of the ladder in the French police. Admiration grew in her, as well as some other emotion she couldn’t
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