His free hand settles across my throat, his long fingers wrapping all the way around to my nape. His massive paw is heavy and heated, and there is no doubt he can snap my neck in a second if he chooses.
I jolt, swallowing and then finding relief that I can swallow. But my breathing turns rapid and shallow, and I can’t draw in enough oxygen to relieve my lungs.
He leans in and slightly squeezes, and my palms start to sweat, even through the chills attacking me. “That makes two rules of mine you’ve broken within ten minutes, Alana Beaumont. You break another one before we get home, and I’m going to flip you over and spank that perfect ass until you’re screaming and the taste of honey is the only thing in my head.”
The threat, from another man, would infuriate me. But this one? His hard and possessive tone paralyzes me. More tears fill my eyes. I can’t move. He won’t let me. “What do you want from me?”
“At the moment? Obedience.” He glances at his buzzing phone.
“Bummer,” I blather.
His gaze returns to me. “Excuse me?”
“There’s a gene that creates a tendency to obey,” I say, my head spinning. He’s holding me too tightly for me to grasp the door handle again; I need to loosen his grip. “Researchers have identified it on the Y chromosome, which I do not have.” I try to push away from him . . . but don’t move an inch. His strength petrifies me. “But the good news is that learning to live with disappointment builds character. So with more disappointments like this, you should be a decent guy in about a millennium. I’m grateful to have started you on this journey.”
His stare deepens and I want to blink but can’t look away. “You have a sense of humor. I had not expected that.”
I tremble. Somehow, I tear my gaze from his, looking down at his broad chest. “You have enough going on, Thorn. You don’t want to start a war with my father.” Is there a way to reason with him before he kills me? Or worse?
“I’m already in a war. Having another adversary doesn’t change the chess board much,” he counters.
I gulp. “Um, I don’t understand the honey reference. How would, um, well, spanking me fill you with honey?” My butt clenches as I say the words and for a second it’s a relief to concentrate on anything but that knife he must still have close. Perhaps if I understand his insanity, I can work with it.
“I have a form of Lexical-Gustatory Synesthesia,” he murmurs.
What in the world? I’ve read about synesthesia but have never met anyone who has it.
He clears his throat. “It’s a rare form of synesthesia where people’s voices trigger certain tastes in my mouth. You’re all honey, baby.” He describes the condition as if I’m not smart or educated enough to know what it is. Oh, I get it. He thinks he knows me.
I look up. “You follow me on Aquarius Social.”
He nods.
“And in real life.” I know I’ve seen his eyes in the darkness before.
“Yes. You’re an obsession.”
Adrenaline shoots through my veins. “That’s awfully honest.” In fact, telling me about the synesthesia shows a level of trust that doesn’t make sense.
“One of my rules,” he says quietly. “Number one, actually. There will be no lies between us. Ever.”
Between us? Just how long does he plan to keep me? So I violated his rule when I said I’d meet him at the bridge to die. “What other rule did I break?” I have to believe there will be a chance to escape if he lets me live long enough to do so.
He loosens his hold on my neck and swipes a callused thumb along my jawline. “We’re traveling at a hundred miles an hour, and you tried to jump out of the vehicle. Rule number two is to stay out of danger. Period.”
“You’re all danger,” I say without thinking.
His grin is quick and so fleeting I’d wonder if I saw it if my chest didn’t heat quickly. “Smart girl.”
Obviously he doesn’t think that, which is good for me. Being underestimated can only help. “Are you going to kill me?”
“No.”
I narrow my gaze, trying to read him, but it’s like staring at a wall of slate. “I’m going to fight you.”
“Good.”
My vision tunnels in, darkening the interior of the shadow-filled vehicle. Then I waver, my head turning heavy. Shouldn’t terror shoot adrenaline through my system? Why is my body shutting down? Is it a defense mechanism? “Why are you taking me?”
“I want you.”
Simple words. Terrifying ones. I need to get my hands on that knife. “That’s too bad.”
“Is it?” He leans in, his lips brushing my neck.
My body performs a tremble head to toe. Confusion blankets me.
His hand rests on my bare thigh and heat flashes up to my core. “I’m thinking you like danger.” His hot breath singes my throat, and my nipples harden against my flimsy tanktop. His chuckle, right against my skin, rumbles through my body. “Want me to prove it to you?” That heated palm slides up my leg, his fingers curling around my thigh.
“No,” I squeak, partly because the driver is right there, and partly because I’m not sure what Thorn will find. My body is rioting.
He inhales deeply, his voice a dark whisper in my ear. “You’re wet. We both know it.” But his fingers don’t move.
I look down at his bruised and cut knuckles. He didn’t get those in the brief scuffle with the waiter. “Why are you bleeding?”
“Fought on the streets earlier.”
Thorn Beathach fights on the streets? An odd hobby for a billionaire. “How many people have you killed tonight?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
