Bad Boy Next Door (A Romantic Suspense)(3)

“You want your bonus now?” she purrs, running her hands over my cock. “Ooh, look at you. Still hard. Most guys need a breather after I finish with them.”

“Not me,” I smirk. “I can go all night.”

“Mmmm, I’ll bet you can. These are for you.” She shakes the ropes in her other hand.

“Give me your wrists.”

“Oh no, they’re not to tie me down. Just let me strap you in and close your eyes, baby. This will be the highlight of your life.”

I snort. “No, hon. Not my thing. Why don’t we just—”

“Fuck,” she snaps, and wriggles out from under me.

She’s fast, and slippery like a freaking eel. I try to grab her. Buck-ass naked and loosely gripping a loop of ropes, she slips through my arms, the length of rope between stretched between her hands. I push her back but the silk rubs hot around my throat, and with a jerk of her arm it tightens on my airway. Before I can grab it, the silk cord bites into my skin and crushes my neck, and panic sets in. For a moment I flail, and stare at her. My stupid instincts scream at me that I can’t hit a girl.

So I don’t. I shove my arms up between hers and break her grip. The rope tightens on my neck so hard I think it’s going to pop my eyeballs out, but her grip on the rope breaks and I shove her. She rolls off the bed.

I surge to my feet, coughing, and yank the f*cking thing off and throw it aside. Before I can turn around she kicks the table over, the briefcase falls, and she rips back part of the lid and yanks out a pair of wicked six-inch knives, their mirrored edges so sharp they blur in the dim light, and charges after me buck-ass naked, razor-sharp steel flashing in the air.

“What the f*ck are you doing?” I rasp, ducking out of the way.

“Fulfilling my contract,” she says, and comes at me again.

She’s fast, too goddamn fast. I catch one wrist and feel a hot bite in my side. She tried to stab me but the blade slid over my ribs instead, opening a two-inch-long gash that’s currently sending way too much blood running down my leg. I try to pull her into an armlock but she’s too damned slippery, and it’s only by a hair’s breadth that the tip of her knife doesn’t bite right into my chest and slide into my heart, and then the other one is coming at me.

The edges are so sharp I can’t feel the cuts until my arms are bleeding and there’s another gash in my leg. She darts back, lunging and feinting at me with the knives, and somehow her sinuous naked body is still beautiful, even with splatters of my blood on her face and chest.

“You should have let me tie you up,” she hisses, circling me. “I’d have let you come again before I cut your throat.”

“Thanks, that’s really sweet of you.”

“You do have a nice cock.” She shrugs and then comes at me slashing and stabbing, a whirlwind of sharp steel and silky, naked skin.

This time I’m ready. I twist and know I’m going to take a cut, but it’s enough. I get her feet out from under her and get ahold of her wrist, capture her momentum, and redirect it onto the floor. Her breath flies out as she hits the carpet under me, and the knives drop from her hands.

I throw my weight on her to pin her down, and now that I have her, it’s a matter of size. My ground game is good, hers isn’t, and I’ve got her. Once I get ahold of the rope it’ll be easy.

I could do to her what she did to me. With my knee in her back and the rope in my hands I’d just have to slip it around her pretty pale throat and twist, and that would be the end of it.

I could, but I don’t hurt women. I have a code.

Instead I drag her wrists together and loop the rope around them, and tie it tight, enough that it starts to turn her hands purple. She’ll wriggle out of it, but it’ll buy me some time.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Tying you up.”

The rope is just long enough to pull her legs up and bind her ankles, too, and leave her hog tied. I lurch off of her and grab my pants, drag them on, shove my feet into my shoes, and pull on my shirt. Blood is already soaking through.

“You’re not going to kill me?”

“Nope.”

“Are you crazy? I’m going to come after you again. I took a contract.”

“I know.”

“You’ll have to kill me the next time.”

“Nope.”

She laughs. “No wonder Santiago is so disappointed in you. You should hear him talk about what a bitter disappointment the great Quentin Mulqueen turned out to be.”

“Tell him I said hi,” I pant, lurching into the bathroom. I grab a towel and press it against my side, and use my belt to hold it in place. The wounds on my arms aren’t bad, just scratches. I slip into my holster and pull my jacket on, and hope I can get out of the hotel without somebody asking why I’m bleeding all over the place. I stumble out of the bathroom, straighten up my clothes as best I can, and watch her wriggle on the floor a little bit.

“You’d better hurry up,” she says, smirking at me. “The longer you wait, the less of a head start you have.”

I stumble out of the room and let the door close behind me.

The f*ck am I going to do now?

Okay, first, get the hell out of here. I head for the stairwell and lurch down, wincing at the pain in my leg. I’m not sure how deep that cut is. I didn’t get a good look and I’m not going to stop to get one now. Each step is a jolt of agony, until I finally reach the bottom and stop, panting. Fuck, I can’t go out through the lobby like this. I’ll attract too much attention. I turn away from the door and go down the next flight of stairs, into the ground level of the hotel. I just need to find my way to the parking garage, and I’m set.