Ensnared (Brutes of Bristlebrook, #1)(15)

Golden light bathes long leather couches, which frame the room on three sides. A floor-to-ceiling television takes up the fourth, complete with gaming consoles and controllers. On the opposite side of the room, a raised platform behind one of the couches houses a well-stocked drink bar. It’s a complete man cave, albeit a classy one.

Lucky is sprawled far too close to the massive television, an open bottle of whiskey beside him and a game controller in his hand. He gives me a wink when I enter, then his eyes run over my silk shirt and color creeps into his cheeks. He glances up at Jasper, but the game draws his attention back quickly.

Dom and Beau are leaning forward on the couches, heads bent together as though in mid-conversation. A half-read book rests open and forgotten on Dom’s lap. They both look up as I enter. Something flares in Dom’s eyes as he takes in my skimpy, damp shirt.

I don’t recognize the fourth man by the bar but this has to be the mysterious Jaykob. As I watch, he cracks a bottle open on the belt of his jeans, letting the bottle top fall to the floor as he takes a drag.

I purse my lips. He had better be planning on picking that up.

The man is tall, about Beau’s height, but stockier with it. His face is rough-hewn—rawly attractive rather than classically handsome. He has elaborate, full-sleeve tattoos on both thickly muscled arms and his once-white T-shirt strains across his chest; it’s dirtied with some sort of black paint. Not that he seems the artistic type. Despite his stillness, his eyes hold a kind of dangerous turbulence that makes me uneasy . . . even as I wonder what kissing him might be like.

What maybe more than kissing him might be like.

The thought pulls me up short. What on earth has come over me? Since when do I think about, well, about more than kissing?

It’s as though Beau sparked something by the river, then Jasper fanned the flames, and now Jaykob and Lucky and Dom are just sitting around like sexy man kindling.

This needs to stop— now—or I’m going to end up embarrassing myself.

I shiver and look back at Lucky’s game, which seems the safest option at the moment. A mocking snort comes from the scary artist’s direction.

“The mouse?” he scoffs. His voice is gravel and windburn. “Whatever. I’ll make do.”

I flinch, and Jasper curses softly behind me. My gaze swings back around to find Jaykob stalking up to me. I barely see the dark intent in his midnight blue eyes before his hand grasps my chin and his mouth fits flush against mine. My lips part on a sound of surprise, and he takes the opportunity to plunder my mouth. His grip moves to the back of my head, almost painfully, and his other hand grasps my backside, pulling me hard against him.

I shudder, shocked, lost in his demanding mouth. With a whimper that gets lost in our tangled tongues, I raise my hands to his chest, not sure if I want to push him away or pull him closer. No one has ever been this rough with me. My breasts rub against him, shockingly sensitive through the thin silk.

Then he’s yanked away, and a hand grasps my elbow, keeping me upright.

I suck in air, panting jaggedly, heat rising in my cheeks as I take in the scene in front of me. Jasper, who had been closest, was the one who dragged Jaykob off me, and Beau is helping him hold back the now-swearing man. Lucky has abandoned his game and stands between them and me, and Dom . . . Dom has my elbow. I look up at him, wide eyed and damp lipped, and he gives me a stern, searching look.

“The fuck was that?” Beau snaps.

Jaykob smirks at him, chest heaving as he half-heartedly tries to shake the two men off. “It is what she’s here for, ain’t it?”

My cheeks burn. Was I confused before? I definitely would have pushed him away.

Eventually.

Before I think about what I’m doing, I stalk up to the three men and slap Jaykob hard across the face. It barely moves his cheek and my hand stings from the impact. I curl my fingers into my palm to soothe the sudden shock of pain.

Everyone stills. The burly man gives me a look of darkening disbelief.

Immediately, guilt pricks me. Stabs me, really. It’s as unacceptable for a woman to strike a man as the other way around, but memories of the men in the woods are still too fresh for cold fear not to prick me at his roughness—even if that fear is only filtering through now. And he did grab me first.

“Whatever I agreed, you do not have the right to manhandle me like that unless I give you permission!”

My voice is only half as stern as I’d have liked it to be, my body still roiling with . . . I purse my lips. Even if I am attracted to him, it’s not okay for him to just paw at me like that. I don’t know this man.

“You will— You will treat me like a lady!” I add, trying to keep the indignation in my tone and wishing I didn’t sound so much like Scarlett O’Hara on the verge of a swoon.

My stomach dips again when I see the angry red mark growing on his cheek. I’ve never hit anyone before. Even frightened, I’m better than this. I’m certainly smarter than this. Guilt makes maintaining my anger difficult.

I’m about to apologize when his eyes trail over me obnoxiously, lingering on my breasts. I don’t have to look down to know my nipples are tight and hard against the thin silk.

Traitors.

The urge to apologize dies, and I lift my chin.

Jaykob meets my eyes and sneers. “Lady, is it?”

The scorn in his face makes me cringe, though there’s a flash of something small and bitter in his downturned mouth that makes me wonder. Why should he be upset?