She looks down at the gnat with wide eyes. I fear I’ve shown her my violent side, even though I’ve tried to avoid it by sparing the gnat’s life. Finally, she lifts her chin and I sense a slight wariness there. I hold my breath, but she takes off down the hallway. “I’ll be just a minute.” She stops and turns. “Did you really mean it about the bubble bath and books?”
“I’ll never say anything to you I don’t mean.”
She looks down at the gun in my jacket. “What about the things you’re not saying?”
I don’t have an answer for that. I can only follow her, protecting her back as she climbs the stairs. I can love her, treat her like a princess, guard her with my life.
But would she want those things if she knew I’m a killer?
CHAPTER THREE
Margaret
My life just got so much more intense.
Who is this woefully hot Russian dude and what was he doing in Hank’s All Nude Review? His strict demeanor, his expensive suit and the black Escalade he’s driving make him the furthest thing from strip joint clientele you can get. I think. After all, today was my first—and apparently last—day of work.
From my position in the passenger seat, I sneak another look to Lenin. If that’s his real name. He must be some kind of wizard, because I was definitely under a spell during the lap dance. One minute I was petrified I would fail to please him and the shoebox I’m now clutching would be destroyed by my stepfather. And the next? I wasn’t thinking about anything but stoking the new fire inside me higher and higher until it burned me down.
I’ve woken up after a sexy dream before and pressed down on the flesh between my legs until fleeting relief came. Those times were orgasms, yes, but they weren’t anywhere near as satisfying as the one I had on Lenin’s lap. Lord, I’m still buzzing from it. My skin is sensitive and I can feel every inhale and exhale that leaves my body. I came by it so shamefully, too, writhing around on his arousal like an animal in heat.
Bounce you like Daddy’s good little girl?
My core clenches like a fist and I swallow a gasp. What does it mean that Lenin calling himself my Daddy wrought such an overwhelming response from my body? My real father barely spared me a glance and I hate him for the harm he inflicted on my mother. The idea of him laying a finger on me is repulsive and I never called him daddy. Lenin, though…calling him by that title excites me. Not just because of the word itself, but what it represents. Someone to actually care for me. About me. Lenin seems to. However, if I learned anything from my mother and the life she led, it’s to keep caution and place trust only sparingly.
Especially when it comes to men who carry guns and swing their fists as easy as breathing.
“Where are you taking me?”
Lenin nods at the navigator screen. “The Inner Harbor.” I feel his sharp gaze skimming over me from behind his dark shades. “You need something to eat.”
My stomach turns over at the mere mention of food and his lips quirk at one end. I’ll say one thing for Lenin, he’s like no man I’ve come across. One, none of my mother’s boyfriends carried around giant wads of cash. Two, none of them exhibited any manner of self control. And three, their needs always came first.
Get me a beer, woman.
I’m hungry.
Tell your brat to shut up.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t imagine Lenin saying any of these things to me. Or am I just so accustomed to the scum of the earth that I’m painting a picture of him he’s going to destroy as soon as I let my guard down? Don’t let your guard down.
He has a gun.
“Yeah.” I clear my rusty throat. “I guess I could go for a bite.”
He hums sympathetically, but his powerful hands tighten on the steering wheel, making the leather groan. “When is the last time you ate?”
“Saltines and some peanut butter. Maybe yesterday?” Pride sends my chin up a notch. “I’m not complaining. It’s my favorite snack.”
A muscle jumps in his cheek. “No, you do not seem the type to complain.”
“No.” I think of the hard shaft left unsatisfied between his legs. “Neither do you.”
“I have many complaints right now, Margaret. They will be taken care of when you are fed and soaking in this bubble bath you requested.”
“What’s in this for you, Lenin?” I blurt. “Why do you want to feed me and soak me?”
He’s quiet until we pull to a red light and he looks over, his eyes hidden behind black lenses. “You already find trusting me difficult, angel. I worry that if I explain my feelings, you will grow even more skittish with me.”