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Vince heard moaning from the bedroom and immediately got off the phone with Nolan to investigate. At first he puzzled at the faint moans until he recognized the anxious scissoring of her legs beneath the blankets and he grinned. Whatever was happening in her dreams must’ve been pretty hot because her nipples had pearled in her sleep and she was twisting and moving as if someone were caressing her body with phantom hands. Watching her felt wrong but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. She was such an enigma to him, part feral cat — hissing and scratching — and part vulnerable China doll with plainly broken parts. He wondered who was in her dreams that made her wet with need but even as the natural curiosity flitted across his thoughts, he didn’t like the way it made him feel to know that she’d allowed someone — anyone but him — touch her so intimately. But the minute he realized the faint touch of jealousy he shut it down. What the fuck did he care about her sex life? She was nothing to him aside from a detail he had to manage. Just like he had her sister. Once they’d solved the mystery of who was using Malvagio for their own purposes, he’d close the book on Lana and Emma Winters. Emma…her name left a delicious taste in his mouth. Nolan had discovered her identity a few moments ago, which hadn’t been difficult once Emma herself had outed her relationship with Lana. Emma Winters…the name fit her seemingly delicate disposition, which was a total ruse. Emma was pretty damn tough. He’d expected her to crumble after her ordeal but she’d proven to be far tougher than he’d imagined, choosing to bounce back with her fists raised rather than sink into a deep, dark place inside of herself like her sister had. Poor Lana…such a delicate flower. He wasn’t sure who had brought her to the club, no one had copped to it, which was probably because they would’ve been banned for bringing someone who hadn’t been vetted and cleared. Vince kicked himself for not pursuing the matter more aggressively at the time. Now they had a bigger mess. Another moan pulled his attention and he realized she was no longer moving with arousal but jerking in fear. Her lips parted and a whispered cry escaped, her brows pulled in a mask of total terror. He shouldn’t have been so affected by the sight of her whimpering but it pulled at a place inside of him that he’d long since shut down and padlocked. He didn’t stop to question his actions, too intent on soothing her ragged cries and immediately went to her, drawing her gently into his arms. “It’s okay, you’re safe,” he murmured softly against her crown. She hiccupped and clung to him, burying her face against his chest, unknowingly cleaving to him as if he were the only thing between her and death, and his heart stuttered painfully. Someone else had looked to him for protection and he’d utterly failed her. He closed his eyes against the wash of memories that assaulted him, wishing to God he could forget but in all his pleas to heaven and above, none had been answered. He was reminded daily of how he wasn’t worthy of someone to love for his own. Isabel had put her trust in him, yet he’d known her heart had belonged to Dillon. And now he had this little dove who’d managed to stir his blood in a way he didn’t welcome but couldn’t deny? He held her tightly, inhaling the unique scent of her essence and knew she was trouble in more ways than one but he couldn’t bring himself to push her away.
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Emma awoke with a start and without thinking buried her nose against the solid wall of muscle cradling her. Relief over realizing she’d been suffering from a nightmare and not a reboot of that horrid night blotting out rational thought. But as her nose tingled at the sensual scent of clean male skin and the sharp bite of aftershave, she sucked in a wild breath and pushed hard against the wall of muscle, nearly falling from the bed in shock. “What are you doing?” she demanded to know, pulling the sheets practically to her chin. “Why are you in bed with me?”
Vince climbed from the bed, seemingly unperturbed by her outburst but answered curtly, “You were having a nightmare. I was trying to shut you up before you disturbed the neighbors with your caterwauling.”
“I do not caterwaul.”
“Would you prefer the term screeching?”
No. That wasn’t very flattering either. “Well, I’m fine so keep your meat hooks to yourself.”
“Meat hooks?” He stared. “You, little dove, have an appalling sense of gratitude.”
“Kidnappers are not allowed to critique the manners of their hostages,” she said, looking away, refusing to be made to feel guilty for her brusque brush-off. No one had asked him to climb into her bed just as no one had forced him to hold her hostage. She took no responsibility for his pique. But she had to admit now that her heart rate had slowed to a normal and steady thump, she’d been wildly grateful to feel his solid strength wrapped around her. In that crazy moment between sleep and complete awareness, she’d been instantly soothed by the feel of his arms holding her tight and her fuzzed brain had told her she was safe. Of course, when she’d realized she was in Vince Buchanan’s arms, her scandalized brain had told her something completely different, something along the lines of Run, you stupid idiot! and she’d reacted accordingly. So, why did she feel like such a jerk? She wasn’t the one who was holding a person against their will. “If you have a problem with my attitude you could always just let me go.” At his dark scowl, she exhaled a short, frustrated breath. “Fine. It’s your funeral. I hope you have a great lawyer because I am going to sue the pants off you.” She realized her mistake the second the words flew from her mouth but it was too late to take them back.
Vince’s mouth curved in a sardonically sensual smirk as he said, “I have excellent lawyers — as in plural — and if you were interested in getting me out of my pants, all you had to do was ask.”
“Oh!” Her eyes widened as she scowled. “As if! Get over yourself, Buchanan. The very idea makes me want to vomit.”
If only that were true. Emma hated to admit but the idea had to be somewhere in her subconscious otherwise why would she have such a shameful dream about him? Ugh. Thank God, he couldn’t read minds. Her mortification would burn her alive. But seeing as she doubted he had mind reading capabilities she was happy to cling to outward appearances. He need not know that her dream had featured him and some quite scorching scenes that she didn’t even fully understand but she knew arousal in its most primal form. And everything about Vince was primal male.
She suppressed a shudder but Vince’s quick eye caught the motion. “Do you need more blankets?” he asked brusquely and she nodded, happy to cover her visceral reaction to him and all his overflowing masculinity. He abruptly left and returned, tossing a thick blanket to her. “Thank you,” she said awkwardly, then ventured to ask, “So…do you have any idea when I might get some clothes? Unlike other women in your company, I do not relish the idea of lounging around naked.”
“Your clothes should arrive later today. But if it were my wish for you to remain naked, you certainly would remain so.”
“Is that so?” Oh, the arrogance, she wanted to scream. “And what makes you think you could make me do anything?”
“I can make you do all manner of things,” he said with a shrug, causing her fingers to itch with the desire to lob something heavy and blunt at his thick head. “The key to motivating anyone is finding their currency. Laird told me that you pleaded with him to release you so you could care for your sister.”
“Yes, that’s true,” she agreed cautiously, not trusting where this was going one bit. “And?”
“And I’ve discovered your currency is your sense of responsibility. So, I’ve had Laird go procure your sister.”
What? “What do you mean procure?” She stilled, her brain freezing. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He smiled, slow and deliberate. “I told you, I would find your motivation. You’ve been fighting me tooth and nail since I rescued you, making this situation ten times worse than it needs to be. I need your help in catching whoever did this to you and your sister. You’d think that you’d be more helpful but instead you’ve been an irritating twit and I’ve tired of your games.”
“Games?” she gasped, outrage blotting out her good sense. “How dare you!”
He waved away her outrage and continued. “Your sister is in good hands. Laird will take excellent care of her while you do your best to be accommodating.”
“You can’t do this,” she protested, unable to believe his nerve. “You can’t just go around plucking people off the street to do whatever you want with them. What kind of world do you live in where that’s remotely okay?” She was beginning to shriek but she didn’t care. She hoped his eardrums burst and bled. “I’ll call the cops and then you’ll go to jail, you miserable son-of-a-bitch. My sister has been through an unimaginable trauma because of your club and now you’re going to make it worse!”
“Don’t be so dramatic. Laird seemed quite intrigued by your sister. He’ll treat her like a queen. He loves to pamper and dote on women. But if you continue to stonewall me, I will make your life — and by proxy — your sister’s life very difficult.”