Dragon's Lair by Denise Lynn

“Don’t. Braeden, please, don’t.”
    His mouth hovered a breath above hers. “You want this as much as I do.” His lips were warm as he brushed hers with a kiss. “Can you deny that?”
    Alexia did her best to ignore what his touch did to her. She knew that the sudden difficulty with breathing could be calmed. The urge to thread her fingers through his hair and draw his mouth back to hers would be quieted. The heat flaring to life in her blood would cool.
    Yet while she could eventually steady the erratic pounding of her heart, she would never be able to rid herself of the desperate longing his caress produced.
    â€œNo, damn you, I can’t deny it.”
    He released her. “The gun?”
    Alexia nearly groaned at the loss of his touch. She closed her eyes tightly while a shiver raced the length of her body. Finally she looked at him asking, “Gun?”
    â€œThe Beretta.”
    How could he stand there and act as if he wasn’t bothered in the least by what had just happened? She sat down and forced herself to fake a calm she didn’t feel.
    There was no point lying about it. As he’d warned her, if she didn’t just tell him, he’d find out himself. “While Jack was in jail, he called a couple of times threatening to get even with me for testifying against him, so I learned how to use a gun just in case. The gun-club instructor said the Beretta was pretty accurate and it was small enough to fit my grip. I figured it’d be easy for me to handle.”
    â€œSmall isn’t necessarily easy to handle.”
    â€œI figured it’d be easier to handle than, say—a tank.”
    Braeden crossed to the glass doors. “Jack is out of jail?”
    â€œYes, he called yesterday morning before I left for work, promising to show up at the museum.” She’d started the day out thinking her only worry would be Jack, so she’d slipped the gun into her jacket pocket.
    â€œDid he?”
    â€œThankfully, no.”
    Without turning around, Braeden asked, “Did you kill the man you shot?”
    Kill him? Just the thought made Alexia feel ill. “No, I couldn’t do that. I just winged his arm.”
    â€œSo he’s still out there.”
    It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t answer. But he was right. The men were still out there.
    â€œWould you recognize him?”
    â€œNo. They all wore face masks.”
    Braeden muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse before turning away from the view.
    He pointed toward a hallway to his right—the opposite direction of his bedroom. “There’s another bedroom with a master bath that way.”
    Completely businesslike, he nodded toward what looked like a wet bar. She could see the kitchen beyond it from where she sat. “There’s a dining room and laundry room at the rear of the kitchen.”
    â€œThe den is there.” He pointed at the French doors at the front left of the living room.
    She’d come to him for help, for protection, not to play house. “There aren’t any other rooms available?”
    â€œOf course there are. There are 220, to be exact.”
    â€œThen—”
    He stepped in front of her. “No. You’ll stay here.”
    â€œIn your suite?”
    â€œYes.”
    The idea terrified her, turned the blood in her veins cold. “Why?”
    Without any trace of emotion, he said, “Because I don’t trust you.”
    â€œAm I your—prisoner, then?”
    â€œNo. This time when you decide to run away, instead of coming to me, I will be there to stop you.”
    He’s gotten too good at second-guessing her. “I didn’t run away. I just left.”
    Braeden turned and walked to the entry door. With his hand on the knob, he asked, “Who do you think your lies hurt more? Me? Or you?”
    Before she could respond, the door slammed closed behind