Kidnapped by the Billionaire(27)

There was, of course, no reason for him to do so. Then again, she could make life difficult for him.

Not forgetting the fact that now you know he has a weakness.

Her.

Violet smiled at herself, trying to ignore the stupid leap of excitement  inside her at the thought of tangling again with Mr. Tall, Dark, and  Scarred. She'd have to be careful, obviously, if she was going to  exploit that particular vulnerability, especially when it was likely to  get her caught up in it too. But if she knew the danger, she'd keep her  head. Make sure she stayed in charge of anything that went down. It was  certainly worth a try, wasn't it?

The sound of the apartment door slamming shut echoed down the hallway,  sending a shiver of ridiculous anticipation rolling through her.

She dismissed the feeling, lifting her hands to her short damp hair and  running her fingers through it. It had started to curl, which was  annoying, but there was nothing to be done about that. She was going to  have to live with it.

Bracing herself with a deep breath, Violet was just about to go out into  the main apartment living area, when Elijah strode past her down the  hallway without a second glance. He disappeared into the bedroom and  slammed the door after him.

She blinked at the closed door. Okay then. So he clearly wasn't in any mood to talk.

For a second she debated following him, but then dismissed the idea. She  wasn't going to go running after him and begging him to listen to her  idea. She had to start off strong and confident, as if she had power in  this, because anything else would only end up ceding it to him, and he  really didn't need any more power.

So she went back down the hallway and out into the apartment living  area, automatically heading for the bookshelves again, if only because  they gave her something interesting to look at while she waited.

But she didn't end up having to wait long.

She'd just bent to try to read the spine of a particularly old-looking  book, when Elijah's footsteps came from behind her. She turned. And her  mouth dried.

He'd changed from his jeans into a pair of loose black shorts that sat  low on his hips and a fitted gray tank top. The tank left a lot of  bronzed skin on show, revealing the hard-packed muscle of his shoulders,  upper arms, and biceps. His legs were powerful and strong, with long,  lean calves, and really, it wasn't any wonder he'd run her down earlier.  Against a man with so much physical strength at his command, she hadn't  a chance.

He went straight over to the gym area of the apartment and picked up the  pair of boxing gloves that were on the floor by the punching bag. With a  series of sharp, practiced movements, he pulled them on and tied them.  Then, without glancing in her direction once, he began to attack the  punching bag like it was his own personal enemy.         

     



 

Violet could only stare, watching as his fists came out with frightening  speed, the sounds of impact echoing through the apartment like pistol  shots. And her breath caught because although she'd known how dangerous  he was, the danger had always come from the gun he'd held pointed at  her. She'd never seen him actually fight. But now he was definitely  fighting, without qualm and without holding back, and quite frankly it  was a little terrifying.

The power in those fists as they hit the bag was lethal, the muscles in  his shoulders and upper arms flexing and releasing as he rained a hail  of blows onto the bag. But even more frightening was the fury in his  coal-black eyes, as if he wanted to tear something, or someone, apart.

Held motionless partly through fear and partly through that humming,  tingling excitement she was beginning to recognize, Violet let herself  watch him. He was like a machine, the bag swinging as he struck it again  and again, the hard thumping sounds filling the apartment like blows  from a jackhammer. Then he stopped for a moment, his attention on the  bag as if he was checking to make sure it was still whole. He wasn't  breathing hard, but a fine sheen of sweat gleamed on his skin.

Desire gripped her, because really, he was mesmerizing. Hard and raw and  primal. Brutal too, yet beautiful for all of that. There was something  about his strength, about his power, that attracted her on the most  basic level. A cavewoman response no doubt, but there was no denying it.

She'd never thought she'd be the type to be attracted to that kind of  masculinity, and yet here she was, unable to tear her gaze away from  him.

Bastard. He'd screwed her up against a wall and then left. And now he  was back, he was swinging at that bag like she wasn't even here. What  the hell was his problem?

She wandered over to where he continued to rain punches down onto the  bag, stopping a little distance away. He clearly wasn't going to talk,  which meant she was going to have to.

"What happened?" she asked after a moment.

He didn't look at her. "None of your fucking business."

"So you're sulking?"

That got her a blazing glance from those dark eyes, sweeping over her  like a flame from a blowtorch. But only for a moment, before he directed  his attention back to the punching bag.

All right, so no talking about where he'd gone.

"Tell me about Jericho," she tried again. "Tell me what's going on with him."

Once again, he said nothing, his right fist snapping out and sending the  bag twisting and turning on the rope it was suspended from.

Oh, fuck this.

Violet stepped forward and grabbed the bag, holding it steady. It was  very heavy and she'd only just grasped it when he sent another punch to  it, the impact vibrating through her body like she'd been hit by a bus.

He stopped immediately, fury crossing his scarred features as he straightened. "What the fuck are you doing?"

She caught her breath, holding on tightly to the bag, meeting his dark  gaze head-on. "I'm trying to get some information, asshole. But you're  too busy sulking about something to talk to me. I have to get your  attention somehow."

He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping away the  sweat. "Information? Why the hell would you think I'd give you  information?"

"Because I asked for it."

His mouth twisted. "That's not how it works, princess."

"Then how does it work?" She let go of the bag and, before he could  launch another punch at it, moved between him and it, the heavy canvas  at her back. "I'm not going to cower at your feet or collapse in a  puddle of fear. You can't threaten or intimidate me, Elijah. Not  anymore."

Something in his eyes burned. "I can put you in the room downstairs."

"Yeah, you could. But you haven't yet, have you?"

"There's still time."

"That won't benefit you, though."

"It'll give me some fucking peace and quiet."

Violet straightened, squaring her shoulders, fully prepared to bluff him  if need be. "Don't you want to hear my alternative plan?"

His dark brows drew down, the scar that ran through one of them white. "What plan?"

She held his gaze. "A little give and take. You give me something, I give you something."

"Why the fuck would I do that? You haven't got anything I want."

"Oh really?" She reached out, her hand shaking only a little, trailing  her fingers over the damp cotton of the tank that stuck to his body,  down over his chest and the hard corrugations of his abs. God, he felt  so hot, so good. "I can think of something,"         

     



 

A muscle flexed in his jaw, but he didn't move. "I thought I told you about the dangers of playing me."

There was fury in his gaze, yet whether that was directed at her in  particular she didn't know. "I'm not playing you." She made herself hold  his intense dark gaze. "I'm only telling you that I want information  and I'm prepared to pay for it."

"Pay? With what?"

"Isn't it obvious?" She spread her hand out where it rested on his flat  stomach, feeling the contraction of taut muscle beneath her palm. He was  as unyielding as that damn brick wall. She swallowed, her mouth dry,  hoping this wasn't as much of a gamble as she feared. "Me."

The look in his eyes flared, but the line of his jaw got even tighter.  "You? But I don't want you, princess." He lifted one gloved fist and  knocked her hand away. "I already had you, remember?"

It hurt, no pretending it didn't. Which was stupid because in order for  it to hurt, she had to care and she'd thought she didn't care. Yet his  utter dismissal slid under her skin like a thin sliver of glass.

Seriously. What did you expect? Hearts and flowers? Him getting down on  his knees and declaring his undying love? You stupid little virgin.

Violet pushed the thoughts away hard. Getting hurt over this made no  sense at all, and what's more, she couldn't afford to. She needed  information. She needed him on her side and getting all teenaged-girl  about it wasn't going to help.

"Of course I remember." She made no move to touch him again, keeping her  hands in fists at her sides, staring up into his hard, scarred face. "I  was there too, if you recall."