“What makes you think you could have any say in who I am or what I do?” He didn’t answer, and that just pissed me off. “Maybe I’ll get a boyfriend who is bigger than you to kick your ass for thinking you can boss me around.” I wanted to force a response from him, but when he jerked the wheel, taking us off the road, fear pooled in the pit of my stomach.
He slammed on the brakes, threw the car in park, and then shoved his face in mine. He was foaming at the mouth, and smoke billowed from his ears as his eyes flashed red. I bet ol’ Lucifer never mastered the art of looking as pissed off as Angel Knight clearly had.
I heard the click of my seatbelt releasing just as common sense flooded and the warning to run blared loud and clear. I reached for the door, but a steel band wrapped around my waist and hauled me over the console.
“What are you doing?” I shrieked when I realized I was kneeling over his lap. My hands had fallen to his chest while he arranged my knees to rest on either side of his legs. My ass in the air was the only thing keeping me from sitting in his lap. He dodged just in time to miss my fist connecting with his face. I tried again, and he captured my wrist, pressing down his thumb until I cried out.
“Do you think it’s wise to continue pissing me off?” he asked in a quiet, almost patient voice. If I hadn’t seen the torturously sexy features of his face, I wouldn’t have known he was upset.
“You’re hurting me.” He maintained pressure until a tear rolled down my cheek. Only then did he let me go. “I can’t believe you did that.”
His hand glided down the column of my throat. I didn’t know whether it was a caress or a threat. “You tried to hit me, brat.”
“Guys aren’t supposed to hurt girls.”
“Not only are you spoiled, but you live a double standard, too.”
I didn’t appreciate being called spoiled, but arguing with him wouldn’t get me off his lap any faster. “Why am I on your lap?”
“Because I enjoy seeing the fear in your eyes every time you’re close to me.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“So your pretty pink lips say.”
I felt something hot and painful stir deep in my belly. “You think my lips are pretty?” When his gaze fell to my lips and darkened, that feeling in my stomach exploded.
“I think…” I held my breath when his fingers wrapped around the side of my neck and squeezed. “…there isn’t anything about you I don’t like.” His throat worked up and down as he swallowed hard.
“That’s not true.”
“Oh?”
I lowered my gaze and somehow found my fingers on the button of his shirt. I wanted nothing more than to slide one after the other through and unwrap what was underneath, but I settled for fiddling with the center one.
“You don’t like me at all. You’re always mean to me.”
He made a sound in his throat, and then his hands were on my waist, pulling me closer. Our bodies together felt like a furnace. “This is wrong,” I heard him whisper as he clenched his eyes closed tight as if in pain.
“Sorry?”
His eyes popped open. “I said you’re wrong,” he answered louder.
He’s lying. That’s not what he said. I ignored the flutters low in my gut anyway and said, “Should you be holding me like this?”
More painful throat sounds. “No.”
“Then why?”
“Would you like the answer to your first question?” I glanced up in time to catch his lips twitch with amusement even while I was freaking out inside.
“Um… can you remind me?”
“You wanted to know if I thought your lips were pretty.”
“I thought we covered the answer to that.” I kept my gaze on his buttons. Buttons were safe. Angel Knight was not.
“Not really. You made an assumption before I could explain.”
“Ok, so, explain.”
“I will.” I nodded but then he said, “But to you. Not the top of your head.”
I looked up all the while debating if it was smart and at the same time, unable to ignore his subtle demand. The single moment that followed our gazes meeting was all it took for me to understand that more than just our gazes had connected.
“Yes?” I prompted when he said nothing. He freaked me out in ways that made me tingle and soar, and others that made me feel like I would crash and burn.
“I think you’re beautiful.”
I gasped, but his finger falling on my lips didn’t allow me to do or say anything more.
“Sometimes I don’t know how to handle that.” He paused but his eyes searched mine before he whispered, “and I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?”
“Yeah. I am.”
“Oh.”
Silence.
We were too busy not saying everything we wanted to.
“So am I forgiven?” he asked after the silence grew to be too obvious.
“Do you really want to be forgiven?”
“I wouldn’t apologize if I didn’t, Sprite.”
“Sprite?”
“You’re so fucking tiny,” he growled. I could feel his frustration vibrating off him.
“I’m sorry?” I said because I didn’t have a clue of how else to react.