Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He tried to dislodge me, but I had my arms locked around him. My legs as well. With a grunt, he crashed me back against the wall, and I gnashed my teeth, feeling my spine rattle.
Who the fuck was he?
He smelled good.
Sandalwood and male. Familiar. Like a song that was just on the tip of my tongue but I couldn't grasp.
Luckily for me, he started to sag from the lack of oxygen. He sank to the ground and then pitched forward. I held on for another second. I didn't want to kill him. I just wanted him to pass the fuck out.
I released my arms, unlocked my legs, and climbed off him. But not quickly enough. His arm snatched out, grabbed me by the ankle, and tugged me down. He rolled on top of me, and we struggled.
"What the fuck?"
Again, a hand clamped over my mouth. The moonlight gave me little to go on in terms of his identity. His hair was inky dark, slightly curly, with a lock falling on his brow as he loomed over me. Suddenly, a tingle of awareness skipped my spine.
I knew him.
No. God, no.
He was still for a second, and then he laughed.
Out loud.Head thrown back. And even though I couldn't see his face, I knew his laugh would be rich and warm, which turned my insides into a pooling puddle of need. I knew that laugh.
He eased his weight off me a little while clamping both my hands above my head as his hands roamed over me.
"Just what the fuck do you think you're doing? I will scream, and so help me God, if you touch me—"
"Sweetheart, I like my women willing. And while you are stunning, I generally like women who want to climb into my bed. I'm just checking you for weapons. Who are you? What did you take?"
Who the fuck did he think I was? He knew me. “I didn't take anything," I muttered.
"Lay still."
“I'm sure you've asked many girls to lay still, but I won't be one of them." I lifted my hips and rolled him over. His eyes widened in surprise just before I delivered an elbow to his jaw, wrenching my wrist from his hold. He growled, but by then I'd already adjusted my legs and pinned down his arms.
"Who are you?"
Why was he asking who I was? Did he just assume I was undercover?
I pulled the small knife that I always had strapped to my lower back and held it at his jugular. “You first."
"My name is Lachlan King."
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
He said it without hesitation. What the hell was he doing here? Was he an agent? Had he always been an agent?Had he played me?
Of course he played you.
Three months ago when I’d met him and slept with him, I was nothing more than his mark.
* * *
Lachlan
Who the hellwas this woman?