He’s about to override his good sense and pull the trigger to end me, when his eyes go hazy. He blinks and shakes his head, trying to focus, but his pupils won’t cooperate.
When he sways on his feet, I grab his gun from him and shove it under my belt.
He staggers against the bar, gripping it for balance, blinking as he tries to clear his vision.
“What have you done to me?” he rasps.
“Nothing permanent. You’ll have a nasty headache when you wake up. Get something for it at the airport. And you really shouldn’t accept a drink from strangers in a foreign country. You never know what might be in it. Or who paid them to put it there.”
He’s still cursing me as he goes down.
I watch him for a moment, out cold on his back on the floor.
Then I hand the bartender a folded wad of cash, down my vodka, and head back home.
31
Riley
Before I even open my eyes in the morning, I’m aware that Mal is lying beside me.
If his heat wasn’t a dead giveaway, the giant erection poking into my hip is.
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, his mouth near my ear. “I’m not going to fuck you.”
It’s probably my imagination, but I could swear that sentence was followed by an unspoken Yet.
Commence hyperventilating and swallowing convulsively.
When I’ve managed to pull myself together, I whisper, “I thought you were mad at me.”
“I was. I’m over it.”
“Where have you been?”
“Why? Were you worried?”
“No. I just didn’t know what to tell Poe when he showed up looking for you.”
After a moment, he chuckles. “Liar.”
I open my eyes and immediately wish I hadn’t. Not only is he lying beside me, he’s under the covers with me. He’s naked from the waist up.
And his big hand is splayed possessively over my belly again. Underneath my shirt, pressed against my bare skin, his palm is fire. His touch burns straight down to my soul.
Jesus, take the wheel. I’m drunk driving.
Mal inhales against my hair. His voice turns husky. “You have no fucking idea what it does to me when you tremble like that.”
“Please stop saying the F word.”
“I’m enjoying your response to it too much to stop.”
“Why are you in bed with me if you’re not, um…you know.”
He says deliberately into my ear, “Going to fuck you?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. My toes curl involuntarily.
His laugh is low and pleased. “I’m in bed with you because it’s comfortable. Because I like lying next to you. Because I want to be here.”
Damn, he smells good. And he feels good, so warm and strong.
And he’s hard.
Everywhere.
He runs his thumb gently along my scar. “How’s your pain today?”
“Not as stabby. More like a dull ache.”
“Did you take your meds last night before you went to sleep?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.” After a pause, he says in a throaty voice, “Are you doing that deliberately?”
I blurt, “I can’t help it if I’m shaking!”
“It’s more like quivering. Shivering, all over.”
“If you’d stop using that tone, I’d be fine!”
“What tone?”
“That sex tone!”
He says something in Russian that sounds filthy then chuckles when my shivering grows worse.
I try to get up, but he throws his leg over mine and drags me back against him, rolling me over so my stomach is pressed to his. I tuck my head under his chin and hide my face in his chest as he laughs at me.
Stroking his hand up and down my spine, he gives me time to calm down before pressing a kiss to my neck and making me hyperventilate all over again.
He murmurs, “Why are you so skittish? I said I wasn’t going to fuck you.”
“It’s your beard.”
“What?”
“Your beard.”
He sounds confused. “What about it?”
“It tickles.”
He goes from confused to blistering hot sex god in half a second, saying gruffly, “And you’d like to feel that tickle between your thighs, wouldn’t you?”
“No.”
“Then why are you squeezing your legs together?”
“I’m not.”
His laugh is slightly breathless but extremely pleased. “Oh, yes, you are, baby.”
“I really hate it when you’re smug.”
Shaking with silent laughter, he presses his lips to my shoulder, nosing aside the neckline of my shirt to do it, making sure to drag his beard lightly across my skin. He reaches down, takes a handful of my ass, and squeezes.