Dragon's Lair by Denise Lynn Page B

“Go ahead, try.”
    She did, but after tugging at the door, yelled at him, “Why, you—”
    Before slamming the bedroom door, he shouted back, “Hold that thought.”
    Alexia stormed to the bar. She jerked open the small fridge beneath the counter. The selection included regular beer or light beer. She kicked the door closed.
    What she wanted was a double shot of scotch. Anything that would help lessen the pure fury pounding in her head and chest.
    But the scotch would only make her sick, and that wouldn’t do much to improve her mood.
    Why was she so livid? She poured a glass of water and stared at Braeden’s bedroom door. Her rage only grew the longer it took him to reappear.
    Three years ago she’d have backed down. But she was done backing down. This moment had been a long time coming. Years, to be precise.
    She was tired of being called a liar. Whether he did so outright or in so many words, the accusation was there. And it stung more than she could say.
    The sound of running water from his shower dragged a frustrated scream from her throat. If he thought taking his sweet time was going to calm her down, he was wrong.
    It only fueled her desire for a good, old-fashioned argument. The kind they’d never had. She snorted and raised the glass of water toward his room in a mock salute before leaning her elbows on the countertop. This time neither one of them was walking away.
    By the time she swallowed the last of the water, his door opened. Alexia set down her empty glass and turned to meet him head-on.
    In his usual brusque manner, he stalked toward her wearing nothing but a pair of baggy sweatpants.
    Expecting him to stop in front of her, Alexia planted her feet and lifted her chin.
    But he didn’t stop, he walked right up against her andkept pushing her backward until she was pinned by the hard wall behind her and the solid wall of muscle in front.
    â€œGet away from me.” She lifted her hands to push him away. But he easily grabbed her wrists and dragged them above her head.
    â€œYou were saying?”
    She tried pulling her wrists free, but he held them pinned against the wall with one hand. “Let me go.”
    Braeden shook his head. “No.”
    At his cold, emotionless tone, icy dread seeped into her anger. The need to get away helped feed the now growing fear. She struggled against him, but he only pressed his chest harder against her.
    Her heart pounding desperately, Alexia bent her leg, but before she could plant her knee in his groin, he kicked her legs apart and stood between them.
    That attempt for freedom thwarted, she did her best to throw herself against his chest.
    But when that move only drew a sigh from Braeden, she glared up at him and sucked in a heavy breath at the darkening of his narrowed gaze.
    â€œLet me go. Please, let me go.” To her horror, her voice quavered and she bit her lower lip to keep from saying anything else. She wasn’t going to cry in front of him. It didn’t matter that the tears were those of rage. She wasn’t about to give him that kind of satisfaction.
    Braeden relaxed his hold slightly. “Finished?”
    Nearly exhausted, she nodded. He released her wrists, but before she could move away, he picked her up, threw her over his shoulder and headed back to the bedroom.
    â€œWhat the hell are you doing?” She kicked her legs, but he only wrapped an arm around them. “Braeden, put me down.”
    He did, but not until he’d closed the bedroom door behind them and dropped her onto the mattress. She scrambled to the far side of the bed. But he grasped her ankle and pulled her back, ordering, “Stay there.”
    â€œI’m not your lapdog.”
    â€œNo, you’re my lying, back-stabbing wife.”
    Alexia flinched. “I am not.”
    â€œNot what? My wife? Or not a lying back-stabber?”
    She slid to the far side of the bed. “Neither.” He was going to make