The arm around his throat loosened a faction and he gulped oxygen. Over the rush of his pulse in his ears, he heard her say, “It’s not asleep.”
“Thanks, Princess Obvious. I got that.”
“Jeez. It moves fast.” She hoisted herself a little bit higher on his back. “Do you think it can jump?”
Shit. If there was a God listening to his prayers, no. “I doubt—”
That’s as far as he got, because the ugly motherfucker charged them, and Quinn screamed again—way louder than he did—and scrambled to get a leg over his shoulder. He braced a hand on the wall to regain his balance, wrapped his other arm around as much of her as he could reach, and then he did what any guy in his shoes would do.
He ran.
Some idiot kept panting, “Watch your head…watch your head…” as he hauled ass out of the shower, the alcove, and the gym. By the time he reached the courtyard, a rational part of him recognized the need for speed had ended, but his fight-or-flight instinct didn’t respond to reason. He kept on running, up the steps and through the open patio doors to her villa. Just inside, he slipped on a rug some interior designer had selected without regard for how easily a natural fiber turned into a hazard on ebonized floors. Gravity gave him just enough time to turn so he landed shoulder first, with Quinn tucked into the protection of his body.
The dull thud of impact was oddly comforting. No sharp pain, no scream from his passenger, no creepy clatter of tiny claws on polished hardwood. Just a diffuse ache that warned him he’d really feel it tomorrow. For now, he rolled onto his back, closed his eyes against the sunbeam slanting through the door, and gave his heart rate a moment to stabilize. The squirming, naked woman draped over him didn’t help the effort, nor did the way her hands slid over his chest while her breathless voice repeated his name—although it reassured him she wasn’t hurt.
“Luke. Are you okay? Say something. Speak to me.”
“I’m fine.” Not true. He was in trouble. Her towel was…he had no idea where. Hopefully nearby, but in the meantime, there was way too much naked skin pressed against naked skin. His hand, her ass. Her breasts, his chest. Their legs. A pair of boxer briefs and workout shorts wouldn’t hide what all this was doing to him, and at some point soon, she’d dial in and realize she was a heartbeat away from finding herself pinned to the floor and fucked at a thousand miles per hour—for approximately three seconds.
As if to prove she didn’t quite appreciate her predicament yet, she laughed. “I gotta say, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone run that fast before.”
He smiled, despite himself. “Are you insinuating my cat-like reflexes are less than heroic?”
“Perish the thought. I was duly impressed.”
“Not half as impressed as me, at how you jumped on my shoulders in a single bound. Your Lena Xavier skills are strong.”
Her chuckle tickled his jaw. “I probably didn’t need to jump on you. I’m pretty sure your scream scared it to death.”
“My scream? Please.” He mustered up a disparaging grunt and pried his eyes open to see her smug smile. “You screamed. I issued a battle cry.”
“Battle cry? Huh.” She had the gall to crinkle her brows at him. “I could have sworn you just showed it the meaning of the word ‘retreat.’”
“I saved the damsel in distress.” He slapped her butt, and then immediately regretted it when his hard-on surged. “But hey, no worries. I can put you back out there with your friend, if that’s your preference.”
The swat turned her laugh into a snort. “Whoops. I’m bruising your fragile male ego, aren’t I? Sorry. Let me try again.” She batted her lashes at him. “My hero. How can I ever thank you?”
Then she leaned in, legs sliding to either side of his waist, and pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. Even though she only meant to play, he groaned.
Quinn’s lips were as warm and soft as his darkest fantasies, and in those fantasies, they wandered everywhere. His cock jumped, eagerly volunteering to be her next stop, while at the same time he struggled not to pull her closer and capture those addictive lips with his own. Kiss them. Bite them. Coax them open and drink her in until she was all he could taste.
Her sudden stillness told him the moment she fully appreciated her predicament. And then, God help him, she trailed her mouth up and kissed his chin. Every nerve ending in his lips burned. He imagined fisting his hands in her hair and dragging her mouth the last few millimeters to his. Claiming it. Owning it. Violating it.
Control yourself.
His hands found their way along the line of her spine. “I accept—” He cleared his throat, because his voice stalled like a cold engine. “I accept your thanks.”
She lifted her head and sent him a slow smile. “I’m not done thanking you, yet.”
He
clamped a hand at the back of her neck, under her hair, and traced her lips with his thumb. First the peaks and dips of the upper, and then the plump curve of the lower. “You’re my client.”
So get your fucking hands off her.
She saw a path straight through his mixed signals. “Not right now.” Her tongue snuck out to lick the pad of his thumb. “I’m on my own time, remember?”
But she wasn’t. Not really. During every second of their arrangement, she remained under his care, and while she didn’t exactly embrace the fact, she’d finally stopped rebelling against it. This wasn’t a power struggle, like their last few skirmishes. She’d worked her way through that phase, for now. But this was a phase, too, despite how real and potent the combination of attraction and affection might feel to her. And his feelings? His were so out of line, he refused to let himself go there. His personal feelings ultimately factored in not one iota, because the rules still applied. “Quinn, this isn’t fair…”