âDonât. Braeden, please, donât.â
His mouth hovered a breath above hers. âYou want this as much as I do.â His lips were warm as he brushed hers with a kiss. âCan you deny that?â
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.
âNo, damn you, I canât deny it.â
He released her. âThe gun?â
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, âGun?â
âThe Beretta.â
How could he stand there and act as if he wasnât bothered in the least by what had just happened? She sat down and forced herself to fake a calm she didnât feel.
There was no point lying about it. As heâd warned her, if she didnât just tell him, heâd find out himself. âWhile 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 itâd be easy for me to handle.â
âSmall isnât necessarily easy to handle.â
âI figured itâd be easier to handle than, sayâa tank.â
Braeden crossed to the glass doors. âJack is out of jail?â
âYes, he called yesterday morning before I left for work, promising to show up at the museum.â Sheâd started the day out thinking her only worry would be Jack, so sheâd slipped the gun into her jacket pocket.
âDid he?â
âThankfully, no.â
Without turning around, Braeden asked, âDid you kill the man you shot?â
Kill him? Just the thought made Alexia feel ill. âNo, I couldnât do that. I just winged his arm.â
âSo heâs still out there.â
It wasnât a question, so she didnât answer. But he was right. The men were still out there.
âWould you recognize him?â
âNo. They all wore face masks.â
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 rightâthe opposite direction of his bedroom. âThereâs another bedroom with a master bath that way.â
Completely businesslike, he nodded toward what looked like a wet bar. She could see the kitchen beyond it from where she sat. âThereâs a dining room and laundry room at the rear of the kitchen.â
âThe den is there.â He pointed at the French doors at the front left of the living room.
Sheâd come to him for help, for protection, not to play house. âThere arenât any other rooms available?â
âOf course there are. There are 220, to be exact.â
âThenââ
He stepped in front of her. âNo. Youâll stay here.â
âIn your suite?â
âYes.â
The idea terrified her, turned the blood in her veins cold. âWhy?â
Without any trace of emotion, he said, âBecause I donât trust you.â
âAm I yourâprisoner, then?â
âNo. This time when you decide to run away, instead of coming to me, I will be there to stop you.â
Heâs gotten too good at second-guessing her. âI didnât run away. I just left.â
Braeden turned and walked to the entry door. With his hand on the knob, he asked, âWho do you think your lies hurt more? Me? Or you?â
Before she could respond, the door slammed closed behind
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