Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2) (9 page)

The momentum sent Aiden’s shoulder slamming into the passenger door. He growled a foul curse.

“Oh, did that hurt?” She grinned innocently. “Silly me, I was so busy listening to your tempting offer to blow you, I nearly drove right past our exit. I can see why the ladies have a hard time resisting you with that silver tongue of yours. I mean, I’m so wet right now, I’m practically sliding off my seat.”
Boom. Roasted. Fuck you. Asshole.

And the look of shock on that man’s face was absolutely worth every dirty, embarrassing word spewed from her mouth. Ryann was quickly learning there was one way, and one way only, to deal with this man—head-on and swinging, because Aiden Kruze didn’t pull his punches. If he couldn’t bully and intimidate her into letting him go, he’d just be an obnoxious ass and sexually harass her until she was so freaking miserable, she wouldn’t be able to stand riding in the car with him.

Unfortunately, her victory was a small one. Before she could high-five her inner self, that arrogant and, blast it all, sexy Disco grin tugged his top lip into a crooked smile and he drawled, “Damn, baby girl, that was hot. You know this silver tongue is good for more than just talking. Why don’t you pull over and unlock these cuffs and I’ll be more than happy to show you. Give me thirty seconds between those sweet thighs of yours and I’ll make you come so hard—”

And just like that he won with a KO. Ryann slammed on the brakes, locking the tires up and sending Aiden into the dash. Without his hands to protect himself, his chest and shoulder took the brunt of the hit. “Fuck!” he snarled, slamming back into his seat and pinning her with a glare so feral, his amber eyes nearly glowed in the darkness. She felt the heat of his wrath burning into her, searing her flesh and firing up all the sensitive spots his lurid offer ignited.

Ryann had never, in the history of ever, had a guy talk to her so bluntly, so crudely, or so . . . freaking hot. Dammit, she didn’t want to want this man! For one, he was engaged to marry another woman—poor thing. And second, the guy was a total man-whore. She swore to God if he
baby-girl
ed her one more time . . .

And what pissed her off all the more was the knowledge that every word he said was absolutely true. She’d felt those hands on her body, tasted those lips as his tongue made wicked promises to her mouth of better things yet to come. He’d barely touched her that night, and it shamed her to admit how quickly he’d shattered her resolve. But that didn’t mean she needed to act on those feelings. She wasn’t some sex-crazed—what had Del Toro called her . . . a cage banger?

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she tipped her head forward and closed her eyes. “I cannot do this with you, Aiden. Not for the next fourteen hours.”

“Well, that’s good to know, because I can go all night long, baby girl.”

That’s it.
Ryann’s head snapped up, she balled her fist, and socked him in the arm as hard as she could.

“Ouch, goddammit! What’d you do that for?”

“If you call me ‘baby girl’ one more time, Aiden Kruze, the next blow is going to be below the belt! I am not one of your cage-banging whores whose bra size is larger than her IQ. For your information, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. But I don’t have a choice—hence
you
don’t have a choice. Believe it or not, I’ve got bigger problems to deal with than tracking down some spoiled, self-entitled rich boy who’s run away from home because he had a spat with his mommy and daddy. Seriously! Grow the fuck up!”

Every muscle in his body turned to stone. That cute-as-hell smile on his handsome face was instantly replaced with lines of tension bracketing his mouth. His amber eyes were so golden, they looked almost otherworldly, extinguishing any softness and leaving him with a deadpan glare of serious badassness.
This
was the face of the man in that picture, the lawyer—hard, unbending, merciless, and intimidating as hell. She pitied any attorney going against him in a courtroom. For a moment she knew a brief twinge of guilt at being the one to flip his switch, snuffing out that irresistible light that attracted his fans, men and women alike. It was as if there was a stranger sitting in the seat beside her—and she didn’t like it. Flirty and cocky she knew, that she could handle, but this . . . ? Lord help her, if she could call back those hurtful words, she’d do it in a heartbeat.

“You don’t know the first thing about me, Ryann.” His growl was low, so feral it sent a prickle of goose bumps trekking up her arms. “So don’t you dare sit there and judge me. And for the record, being rich is not an entitlement, it’s an indenturement. There’s a big fucking difference. Now it’s twenty degrees below zero and I am not exposing my dick to frostbite, so find a fucking gas station so I can take a piss.”

CHAPTER

 10 

W
ow. That took a lot of goddamn nerve. At the brief flash of regret in her eyes, he’d wondered, for a moment, if she was going to apologize—as she well should. But then she turned her attention back to driving, checking behind her before pulling onto the road. He had no clue where they were, and combined with the roofie hangover he was sporting, the effects were pretty disorientating.

As Ryann followed the signs to the closest gas station, her hastily spoken, brutally honest words played over in his mind on an endless loop—particularly the part about her having bigger problems than him. Was it possible that Ryann wasn’t the enemy here? Could she just be another casualty of Hurricane Madeline? Not that it excused what she’d done to him, but it did cue Aiden into the level of desperation this woman must be feeling to do something as dangerous as tangling with a middleweight MMA fighter and think that was a better option.

No, he decided, watching her from the passenger seat. Ryann wasn’t his enemy. She deserved his pity, not his wrath. She was doing her job, a job she admittedly didn’t want, and he’d done everything in his power to make it an impossible task. Shame washed over him when he thought of the vulgar way he’d provoked her—definitely not his finest moment. His cheeks flamed with embarrassment, which cooled a measure of his anger. It wasn’t like him to be so crass and offensive. Talking it up in the bedroom was one thing, but sexually harassing a woman who was not into him was quite another. He owed her an apology. Then again, she had her own list of shit she needed to be apologizing for. And she could start with roofie-ing him.

Ryann hadn’t uttered a word since her outburst, keeping her attention fixed solely on the road. She had to be exhausted after driving all night. From the slump of her shoulders and the dullness of her usually bright verdant eyes, he’d guess she was close to hitting a wall. And she wasn’t the only one. The lingering effects of the Rohypnol still dogged his system, and exhaustion blanketed him. His head felt fuzzy, his limbs heavy. He needed fluids and lots of them to flush out his kidneys.

Up ahead, he spotted a truck stop and, miraculously, it was still open. The parking lot was empty, except for a few semis parked at the far end and two cars, one by the door and one in the employee section by the side of the building. As she cut the engine, he leaned forward and turned, presenting her with his cuffed wrists, anxious to get these things off and stretch his arms. He’d hyperextended his right shoulder in the fight last week and this position wasn’t doing it any favors.

“I don’t think so, Aiden. I’m sorry. You’re going to have to step through those cuffs to get your hands in front of you.”

Bloody hell . . .
He shot her a dark look over his shoulder. “You can’t seriously plan on keeping me bound the entire trip back to New York. Listen, I’ll make you a deal. You uncuff me, and I promise I won’t ditch you. How’s that? Besides, where the hell would I go? It’s freezing outside, I don’t have a coat, and we’re in the middle of bumfucknowhere. Where could I possibly run?”

“You could overpower me—”

A tempting thought, that.
“Sweetheart, I’m a submissions artist. Like I said before, if I wanted to take you down, I wouldn’t need my hands free to do it.” Okay, did that sound as hot to her as it did to him? Because he was imagining so many ways he could pin this woman right now. “You’re operating on a false sense of security here, baby gi—” He stopped short and cleared his throat. “Umm . . . Ryann.”

At his correction, her triumphant grin hit him harder than that punch she’d laid on him earlier. He wasn’t cowing to her demands, per se, he just didn’t see how it’d be beneficial at this time to antagonize the woman who held the key to his freedom. “The only reason we’re even having this conversation right now is because I don’t want to hurt you, Ryann. But I’m telling you right now, I am not riding all the way to Manhattan with my arms tied behind my back, and you will not deliver me to Madeline Kruze trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. It’ll be a lot easier on the both of us if you just take these off. A little good faith would go a long way here, and trust me, sweetheart, you’re going to need it.”

She stared at him, unmoving, as if she couldn’t quite make up her mind what to do. But he was a lawyer, a pro at convincing people to do what he wanted, so he wasn’t sweating it. She just needed one more nudge in the right direction. So he did what any good, self-respecting lawyer would do in his case: He lied his motherfucking ass off.

“Look, I’ve been thinking about what you said—about how I need to man up and face my parents. And you’re right, about everything. If you take these cuffs off and if you promise not to roofie me again—and by the way, I’m still pissed about that—I’ll go back to Manhattan with you, Ryann, but on my own free will, not because you’ve forced me.” A twinge of guilt pinched his chest as the lie rolled off his tongue like warm honey. There was a lot of road between here and Manhattan—plenty of time to ditch the woman. As much as she might actually be right, he was not ready to see either of his parents, and no amount of forcing the issue was going to change that.

The hope blooming in her emerald eyes killed him. This woman was too beautiful for her own good. He could feel his will bending to hers; the unexplainable desire to ease the burden she carried on her slight shoulders was now weighing heavy on him. What was her story? How had she gotten mixed up with his mother? All questions Aiden was bound and determined to get answers to before reaching New York, and none he would discover if he couldn’t gain this woman’s trust.

Despite his wish otherwise, Aiden’s attraction to this woman was fucking with his good judgment. If he had a brain in his head, he’d bail on Ryann the first chance he got. He’d purloin her ride and haul ass back to Vegas without looking back. But the gentleman in him refused to leave her stranded and defenseless, and if he wasn’t careful, his attraction for this intriguing woman might ultimately prove to be his Achilles’ heel. But, first things first: He wasn’t going anywhere with these handcuffs on.

“Really?” she asked, doubt and suspicion lacing her voice. “You’ll come with me? Just like that?”

This woman wasn’t dumb. Then again, he already knew that. Single-handedly, she’d managed to accomplish what two grown men twice her size had failed to do. If he wasn’t so pissed at her, he’d have to admit his grudging respect.

“What can I say? You give a convincing argument.” He wiggled his fingers at her, prompting her to remove the cuffs.

After another moment of hesitation, she exhaled a sigh of surrender and grabbed the connecting chain. “Don’t make me regret this,” she warned. With her free hand, she clicked on the cab light and pulled the keys from the ignition. Without the heater running, a chill instantly began seeping into the SUV, making him acutely aware of his missing coat. His injured shoulder protested the movement when she lifted the cuffs toward the light, extending his arms as she worked to fit the key in the lock.

He held his breath, biting back a pained groan, but a different groan entirely escaped his throat when her fingertips skated over his wrist. How such a simple touch could light him up with need was beyond him. But there was something about this woman that did it for him. Maybe it was her fiery spirit, maybe it was the memory of how good she felt in his arms, how delicious she tasted. Maybe it was that challenge of finding a woman who saw past his bullshit and wasn’t afraid to call him out on it. But whatever it was, Aiden wanted her—bad—and the idea of working Ryann out of his system as they made their way to New York and parted ways sounded like a bravo idea to him.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, struggling with the lock. “I can’t see the hole. Can you move closer this way?”

Her small hand gripped Aiden’s waist as she attempted to guide him closer to the light. Not a small feat, considering he filled over half the cab, leaving Ryann little room to maneuver. The cusps of her nails bit into his flesh, sending a jolt of awareness straight into his cock, his response to her immediate and maddening.

Exhaling a frustrated growl, he attempted to turn in the seat, knees wedging against the door as she fumbled with the lock. “Good thing you weren’t Houdini’s assistant,” he grouched, bending forward. He had his face in the dash, legs tangled, one shoulder pressed against the freezing window, arms twisted back—and a partridge in a pear tree.

She laughed, which did nothing to give credence to the sincerity of her apology. The airy, feminine sound lit up his nerve endings, sending every pounding pulse point straight into his groin. Despite the pain in his shoulder and throbbing of his crimped hard-on, he found himself desperately wanting to hear that laugh again, and he was willing to endure this sick version of Twister to get it.

“I’m almost there . . .”

Oh, good Lord . . .

“Can you just . . . ? Yeah, that’s it. A little higher . . .”

Aiden bit his bottom lip to hold back his tortured groan. Seriously, could she not hear herself speaking?

“Wow, you’re flexible . . .”

“I think that’s my line, sweetheart,” he murmured, unable to help himself. He chuckled at her startled gasp. “Oh, come on, you really didn’t think I was going to pass that up, did ya?”

“You’re an ass.”

But her insult was only half-hearted and just breathy enough to let him know he wasn’t the only one feeling the heat. A moment later, the cuffs sprang free. “Thank God,” he grumbled, wincing as he brought his arms forward and began rubbing the circulation back into his wrists. “I’ll be right back.” Anxious to stretch his legs and put a little distance between him and his hot redheaded abductor, Aiden bailed out of the SUV and double-timed it into the station.

Ryann prayed she wouldn’t regret letting Aiden go. He’d made a convincing argument, though, and it wasn’t like she could keep him bound the entire trip back to New York. She’d done the right thing, she told herself, giving him the benefit of the doubt. She just prayed he didn’t prove her wrong. She had a lot riding on this, and if Aiden decided to screw her over, it’d likely be a mistake she might not live long enough to regret.

With eyes heavy-lidded from fatigue, Ryann struggled to keep her gaze fixed on the storefront window as she waited for Aiden to return. She yawned, battling the exhaustion riding her hard. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep going without some rest. Perhaps an energy drink would help. Getting out of the SUV, Ryann entered the store and headed to the coolers. It took her a moment to find the Monster she was looking for. Of course, it would have to be the one on the top shelf. Standing on her tiptoes, she was reaching for the can when an arm stretched over her head and plucked the soda from the rack.

Startled, she stepped backed, stumbling into a wall of muscle. “Shit, you scared me,” she said, pressing her hand over her thundering heart as she turned to face Aiden. Only, it wasn’t Aiden trapping her between his body and the cooler. The man standing over her was a few inches shorter but just as definably muscled. The tattoos sleeving his arms ran up the sides of his neck, disappearing into a beard that twined into matching braids hanging several inches from his chin. How was it possible that the ink Aiden wore could look so hot on his muscle-roped arms and so terrifying on this man? Perhaps it was the grim images of death trekking up his arms, or maybe the
Welcome to hell
sign collaring his throat. Not a great selling point there. If this guy was going for panty-dropping tats, this one was a swing and a miss. He had more piercings than she did—the bullring looping through his septum was especially lovely, but it was hard to beat that spike poking out of his bottom lip.