toward her mouth, suddenly wanting to kiss her more than he wanted the knife away from his jugular. The knife held constant, but he didn’t. Even though she didn’t let up pressure for one second, in that second he valued the kiss more than the knife.
She startled when his lips touched hers, jerking away, and then back to his. He was kissing a woman who was holding a knife to his throat. Fuck, it was sexy.
She was lost for a second. And in that second she forgot she was holding a knife. Forgot that she was slicing into the neck of the man she’d had sex with the previous night. Forgot that he was an unknown player in the fight she’d just had with two guys she’d never seen before.
His mouth pressed against hers, sending a jolt of awareness through her. The fight that had left her bruised and a little bloody had injected a mother lode of adrenaline rushing her veins like a burst dam. Even though she’d just beaten two men, she’d never felt more like a woman. A powerful woman.
Kissing a jerk who…Yeah, who what?
She jerked away from him, slamming his head back into the wall with her palm on his forehead.
“Who the fuck are you?” she said in a low voice. Last thing she needed was her neighbors poking their heads into her apartment.
“Malone Garrett,” he replied through his teeth.
“How do you know where I live? How do you know the men outside?” As she asked the questions, she realized that his car trouble had been a setup. He’d known she’d pick him up. She hated that he’d predicted her actions. And then had sex with her.
She ignored the voice in her head that told her it was she who had instigated their rooftop liaison. Had he predicted that too?
Her knife pressed harder against his throat. “You have five seconds before I slice.”
He waited until she’d mentally reached five before opening his mouth. “I live across the road. I saw you come home, from my window.” He shrugged. “I was going to come and ask you out again, but…”
“Nope. Not even close.” Suddenly she had total courage of her convictions. She’d just annihilated two men who had threatened her, and she knew she was right about him.
“You’ve been following me. You set yourself up at the side of the road so I’d pick you up, right?”
“No. My car had broken down. I—”
“What was wrong with it?” she asked.
He hesitated. A long, silent second.
Just as she thought. “Exactly. Who are you, and why are you following me? I’m not afraid to kill you. I’m not afraid of anything.” Except maybe the Russians. And Brigda a little.
Mal rolled his eyes and calmly found her thumb with his hand and bent it back until it popped. The knife dropped to the ground again.
“Shit. You bastard.” She backed away from him, holding her hand in pain. Goddamn him. He took a step toward her and with no other choice, she popped her thumb back in its socket. She nearly threw up, but in the haze of pain, she managed to put the sofa between them.
He didn’t make a move on her, just grabbed some tissues from her flowery Kleenex box holder and held them to his neck. They instantly flashed red with the blood flowing from his wound.
She turned away from him for a split second, reaching for the weapon under the armchair seat cushion. When she turned back with the gun pointed at his head, she was startled to see his cell phone at his ear.
“Yup. Put me through to Baston, please.”
What?
He raised his eyebrows at her and smiled an innocent smile.
“No, n-no, wait…,” she stuttered, trying to get her head around the fact that this obtuse British man knew her father.
“What?” He held his finger up at her for a second. “Yup. I’ll hold.” He listened for a second and then pulled the phone an inch from his ear. “I’m guessing you have about three more bars of ‘Greensleeves’ to put that gun the fuck down and stop rampaging, or I’ll tell your father that you have me at gunpoint and that you are quite
She startled when his lips touched hers, jerking away, and then back to his. He was kissing a woman who was holding a knife to his throat. Fuck, it was sexy.
She was lost for a second. And in that second she forgot she was holding a knife. Forgot that she was slicing into the neck of the man she’d had sex with the previous night. Forgot that he was an unknown player in the fight she’d just had with two guys she’d never seen before.
His mouth pressed against hers, sending a jolt of awareness through her. The fight that had left her bruised and a little bloody had injected a mother lode of adrenaline rushing her veins like a burst dam. Even though she’d just beaten two men, she’d never felt more like a woman. A powerful woman.
Kissing a jerk who…Yeah, who what?
She jerked away from him, slamming his head back into the wall with her palm on his forehead.
“Who the fuck are you?” she said in a low voice. Last thing she needed was her neighbors poking their heads into her apartment.
“Malone Garrett,” he replied through his teeth.
“How do you know where I live? How do you know the men outside?” As she asked the questions, she realized that his car trouble had been a setup. He’d known she’d pick him up. She hated that he’d predicted her actions. And then had sex with her.
She ignored the voice in her head that told her it was she who had instigated their rooftop liaison. Had he predicted that too?
Her knife pressed harder against his throat. “You have five seconds before I slice.”
He waited until she’d mentally reached five before opening his mouth. “I live across the road. I saw you come home, from my window.” He shrugged. “I was going to come and ask you out again, but…”
“Nope. Not even close.” Suddenly she had total courage of her convictions. She’d just annihilated two men who had threatened her, and she knew she was right about him.
“You’ve been following me. You set yourself up at the side of the road so I’d pick you up, right?”
“No. My car had broken down. I—”
“What was wrong with it?” she asked.
He hesitated. A long, silent second.
Just as she thought. “Exactly. Who are you, and why are you following me? I’m not afraid to kill you. I’m not afraid of anything.” Except maybe the Russians. And Brigda a little.
Mal rolled his eyes and calmly found her thumb with his hand and bent it back until it popped. The knife dropped to the ground again.
“Shit. You bastard.” She backed away from him, holding her hand in pain. Goddamn him. He took a step toward her and with no other choice, she popped her thumb back in its socket. She nearly threw up, but in the haze of pain, she managed to put the sofa between them.
He didn’t make a move on her, just grabbed some tissues from her flowery Kleenex box holder and held them to his neck. They instantly flashed red with the blood flowing from his wound.
She turned away from him for a split second, reaching for the weapon under the armchair seat cushion. When she turned back with the gun pointed at his head, she was startled to see his cell phone at his ear.
“Yup. Put me through to Baston, please.”
What?
He raised his eyebrows at her and smiled an innocent smile.
“No, n-no, wait…,” she stuttered, trying to get her head around the fact that this obtuse British man knew her father.
“What?” He held his finger up at her for a second. “Yup. I’ll hold.” He listened for a second and then pulled the phone an inch from his ear. “I’m guessing you have about three more bars of ‘Greensleeves’ to put that gun the fuck down and stop rampaging, or I’ll tell your father that you have me at gunpoint and that you are quite
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