“If you want to touch me, all you have to do is ask. There’s no need to play hard to get for it.”
Heat flares in my cheeks when I realize I’m cradling his wrist, fingers stretching across his warm skin. Now that I’m not fighting him, it’s like I’m trying to grab his hand or something.
I release him with a jerk and he uses my flustered state to finish strapping on the helmet.
“Can you let me go?” I ask, softly this time, imploringly even.
For someone who obviously gets off on violence, countering it with the same medicine probably wouldn’t be as effective as trying the exact opposite.
“Not yet.” He grabs the top of my books and I hug them further to my chest, which causes his fingers to brush against my breasts.
A zip goes through me and my hold falters around the books. Jeremy all but yanks them out of my arms.
The man doesn’t have one gentle bone in his body.
He dunks them in the saddlebag. “Why are you confiscating my books?”
“You’ll get them back when we’re done.”
“Done with what?”
He casts me a glance, and I can’t help noticing the smudge of blood on his palm that he got from beating up those guys.
Then leaving them wailing and groaning in the middle of the street.
That’s the type of person Jeremy Volkov is. A man who solves problems with his fists and likes stealing other people’s identities just to teach me a lesson.
So how come I’m caught in his web?
“You’ll find out.” His tone is final, prohibiting any other questions.
He straddles his bike and revs the engine. I’m pretty sure he sees me flinching at the loud sound, and unless I’m imagining it, there’s a twitch of his lips, too.
I’ve always hated superbikes, sports cars, and anything with loud engines and crazy horsepower.
The sensory overload hurts my ears and makes me want to hide in the nearest nook.
I cast a glance at my surroundings. The lot he parked in is isolated, but there are two roads ahead. Surely, if I run, I’ll be able to find a passerby—
“Don’t even think about it.”
My wide eyes land on Jeremy, who’s casually sitting on his bike and watching my every move.
“How do you know what I’m thinking about?”
“You’re a lot more obvious than you realize.” He strokes his index finger on the clutch, back and forth, as if he’s performing some sort of a ritual. “If you want to run, go for it. But you should know that I’ll chase you, and I can’t guarantee what I’ll do to you the moment I catch you, so if that’s an option you’re willing to gamble on, by all means, go ahead and run. If not, I suggest you hop on,peacefully.”
A whole-body tremor goes through me, and it’s due not only to his calmly spoken threats, but also to his words.
The innuendo behind them. The deepening in his inflection when he said them.
He wants to chase me.
I can see it in his dark, ash-gray eyes that he wants me to run.
No, he’s wishing for it. He’s hoping I’ll run so he can get off on chasing me.
Like in that forest.