CAPTURED: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys(134)

I'd been around powerful, attractive men all my life. Both my father and  brother were well known for being eligible bachelors, but they lacked  something that Jethro held in abundance.

Mystery.

Everything about him spoke of trickery and wile. He'd barely spoken, yet  I felt his requests. For some stupid reason, it felt as if he'd trained  me with his silence to be alert, ready, eager to please.

I hated his effortless power.

Backing away, I shook my head. "I won't."

A small smile graced his lips, golden eyes flashing. "That wasn't very  polite. I gave you a request, kindly delivered, respectfully even." His  fingers tightened around the handle bars. "Should I ask again, or will  you rethink your reply?"

A trickle of fear blustered down my neck. I knew that glint in his eye.  Vaughn would get it when we were younger. It meant destruction. It meant  getting their own way. It meant a world of pain if I didn't obey. And  for some reason, I didn't think a wedgie and being tickled until I  couldn't breathe counted as pain in Jethro's dimension.

Clutching the bodice that'd taken me weeks to hand-sew, I took another  step backward. Keeping my chin high, I said, "I'm not being impolite;  I'm stating the obvious. If you wish to leave, we need a different  method of transportation." Speaking so formally sounded odd after  screaming via text message to Kite. "And besides, I don't want to leave  yet. I promised myself I'd ask you something, and I'm not going anywhere  until I do."

God, Nila. What are you doing?

Nerves attacked my stomach, but I kept my stance. I wouldn't back down. Not this time.

Jethro shook his head, displacing his longish salt-and-pepper hair. His  smooth face remained expressionless with patience, but it didn't  relieve-it terrified. With precision born of wealth and confidence, he  kicked the stand down and placed the bike into a resting position.  Swinging his leg over the machine, he climbed the curb and hunted.

No. Don't let him touch you.

I stumbled backward, a slight edge of dizziness catching me off guard.

Jethro caught me, placing his large, cold hands on my waist.

I froze, breathing shallowly. Shoving away the moment of wobbliness, I fixated on his strong jaw and glinting diamond pin.

The temperature of his touch seeped through the ruffles on my hips,  bringing with it fear manifesting like icicles over an innocent dawn.

"What's wrong with you?" Jethro jerked me closer, peering into my eyes.  The first sign of animation lurked in their golden depths. It wasn't  concern though, merely annoyance. "Are you ill?" Annoyance turned to  carefully hidden anger.

I swallowed hard, hating my condition all over again. To him, I would  come across as weak. He wouldn't understand the strength it took to live  a normal life while shackled to an improperly balanced form. If  anything, it made me stronger.

"No, I'm not ill. Not that you're worried for my health." Twitching in  his hold, I searched for a way free. But his touch only tightened.  Blowing a blue-black strand from my eye, I added, "It's not contagious. I  suffer from vertigo. That's all. Google it."

That's all. I scrape my knees if I get out of bed too fast and faint if I swivel my head too quick, but that's all.         

     



 

Jethro scowled. "Perhaps you shouldn't wear such heavy clothing." He  plucked the dense material and delicate stitching on my waist. "It's a  hindrance and delaying my night's activities."

My eyes flared. Night's activities?

Perhaps he had the same conclusion of where we'd end up? Captive in his  strong hands, I stared up. I wasn't short for a woman, but Jethro had at  least half a foot on me. He didn't move, only watched as if I were an  interesting specimen he couldn't decide to enjoy or throw away.

My breathing grew shallow the longer he held me. Dropping my gaze to his  lips, it didn't help my anxiety at having them so close. It's now or  never.

I knew nothing about him. He scared me. But he was a man. I was a woman. And once, just once, I wanted pleasure.

"I want something from you," I murmured.

He stilled. "What exactly makes you think you're in a position to ask something of me?"

I shook my head. "I'm not asking."

A moment thickened between us. His nostrils twitched. "Go on … "

"Take me for a drink. I want to get to know you."

Not quite what I wanted to ask, but I couldn't be so bold.

He laughed once. "Believe me, Ms. Weaver, I'll save you from a mundane  conversation. The most you'll ever know about me is my name. Everything  else … let's just say, ignorance is bliss."

His aftershave of woods and leather came over me again. The chilliness  in his gaze warned not to push, but I couldn't help myself. Not after  the way Kite treated me.

"Bliss … that's a word I don't understand."

Jethro cocked his head, the trace of annoyance coming again. "What exactly are you trying to do?"

A rush of wobbliness hit me. I looked over my shoulder at the café  across the street. "Have a nightcap with me. Over there." I motioned  with my head. I didn't care in the least I wore a huge gown or that the  coffee shop was empty. The couch in the window looked comfy, and I  wasn't ready to have this small freedom destroyed.

He looked to the small venue, a flicker of confusion filling his eyes.  "You-" Cutting himself off, he straightened and let me go. "Fine. If  that's all you want, I see no reason why I can't prolong our true agenda  for thirty minutes." Capturing my elbow, he half-dragged, half-marched  me across the street.

My heart sank at the lack of romance and anticipation. I'd hoped he'd  relax a little-knowing I was interested-and drop the chilly façade.

What if it's not a façade? His demeanour was steadfast and engrained. I doubted he'd ever been carefree or impulsive.

The propulsion was fast, too fast for someone like me with the balance  of a damn butterfly, but his hold was firm and granted a certain safety.

Striding over the curb, Jethro yanked open the glass door, scowling at  the bell jingling above. A young Italian girl looked up, smiling in  welcome.

The rich aroma of coffee and warmth instantly stole the stress from my blood from Kite, the show, and Jethro's company.

"Sit." Jethro let me go, pointing toward the faded yellow settee with purple and orange throw cushions. "And don't move."

I stood frozen. Jethro had no wish to be here, especially with me. What  the hell was going on? First my father pushed me on him, then Jethro  barely tolerated my company. Am I that repulsive to the opposite sex?

"Wait," I said. "Aren't you going to ask what I want?"

Jethro raised an eyebrow. "No. Want to know why?"

I did. But I didn't want to play his ridiculous game. I was tired, had  been dumped via text, and not wanted even when I practically threw  myself at him. The night had turned from promising to disastrous, and I  wanted it over.

When I didn't reply, Jethro waved his hand. "It doesn't matter what you  prefer in beverages. You only get one request and you got it. I'm here  against my plans; therefore, you'll drink what I give you."

My mouth parted, amazement stealing my ability to shout the  incomprehensible phrases jumbled inside. Seriously? Who was this man?

Jethro strode away, leaving me gawking at his powerful back dressed in  an immaculate, tailored suit. He completely ignored me while he ordered.

Not wanting to stand like a dismissed damsel, I moved to the couch and  sat in a cloud of midnight-galaxy material. The underwire and other  tricks to keep my dress buoyant argued against sitting, but my feet  breathed a sigh of gratefulness.

Jethro returned with two cups of coffee. Espresso. Tiny cups, no  biscotti, or anything to prolong something he obviously didn't want to  do. Placing the hot drink in front of me on the low table, he sipped his  own, glaring at me over the rim.

I broke eye contact, collecting the cup of black liquid. Truth be told, I  hated coffee. I'd only suggested the café to delay whatever he'd  planned that was so urgent. Maybe he was a publicist, there to show the  tabloids I was passionate about living as well as fashion. If that was  the case, shouldn't he be nicer? Kinder?

Inhaling the strong caffeine, I pretended to sip while sneaking glimpses  at the mystery beside me. Did it matter he was an arrogant arse who  didn't know the difference between cruel and polite? He had a killer  body, distinguished good looks, and a presence that screamed domination  in the bedroom. I could choose worse for a night of guilt-free sex.

Sitting taller, I said, "So … the thing I wanted to ask you … "

What are you doing? He's not a nice person. And he's got the patience of a Doberman.

Jethro clenched his jaw, swirling his coffee. "I won't answer, do, or  respond to any more requests. Drink your coffee. We're running late."

I ignored that. I adopted a ‘don't ask about the future and why the  almighty rush approach.' Working on another approach, I tried to break  the ice between us. "You seem to know my father. What obligations-"