"I’ll do better than that," I hiss, "I’ll show you how it is to see the sun at night time."
I bring up my knee, aim for his groin.
TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS NEXT READ WESTON AND AMELIE'S STORY IN THE BILLIONAIRE'S CHRISTMAS BRIDE HERE
Read an excerpt from Karma and Michael Byron's story...
Karma
"Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day…"
Tears prick the backs of my eyes. Goddamn Byron. Always creeps up on me when I am at my weakest. Not that I am a poetry addict, by any measure, but words are my jam.
The one consolation I have, that when everything else in the world is wrong, I can turn to them, and they’ll be there—friendly steady, waiting with open arms. And this particular poem had laced my blood and crawled into my gut when I’d first read it. Darkness had folded into me like an insidious snake that raises its head when I least expect it. Like now. I'd managed to give my bodyguard the slip and veered off my usual running route to reach Waterlow Park.
I look out on the still-sleeping city of London, from the grassy slope of the expanse. Somewhere out there, the Mafia is hunting me, apparently.
I purse my lips, close my eyes. Silence. The rustle of the wind between the leaves. The faint tinkle of the water from the nearby spring.
I could be the last person on this planet, alone, unsung, bound for the grave.
Ugh! Stop. Right there. I drag the back of my hand across my nose. Try it again, focus, get the words out, one after the other, like the steps of my sorry life.
"Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day…" My voice breaks. "Bloody, asinine, hell." I dig my fingers into the grass and grab a handful and fling it out. Again. From the top. I open my eyes, focus on a spot in the distance.
"Morn came and went—and came, and…."
"…brought no day."
I whip my head around. His profile fills my line of sight. Dark hair combed back by a ruthless hand that brooks no opposition.
My throat dries.
Hooked nose, thin upper lip, a fleshy lower lip, that hints at hidden desires. Heat. Lust. The sensuous scrape of that whiskered jaw over my innermost places. Across my inner thigh, reaching toward that core of me that throbs, clenches, melts to feel the stab of his tongue, the thrust of his hardness as he impales me, takes me, makes me his.
"And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light.."
Sweat beads my palm; the hairs on my nape rise. "Who are you?"
He stares ahead, his lips moving,
"Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour
They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash—and all was black."
I swallow, squeeze my thighs together. Moisture gathers in my core. How can I be wet by the mere cadence of this stranger’s voice?
I spring up to my feet.
"Sit down."
His voice is unhurried, lazy even, his spine erect. The cut of his black jacket stretches across the width of his massive shoulders. His hair… I was mistaken. There are strands of dark gold woven between the darkness that pours down to brush the nape of his neck. My fingers tingle. My scalp itches.
I take in a breath and my lungs burn.
This man, he’s sucked all the oxygen in this open space, as if he owns it, the master of all he surveys. The master of me. My death. My life. A shiver ladders its way up my spine. Get away, get away now, while you still can.
I take a step back.
"I won’t ask again."
Ask. Command. Force me to do as he wants. He’ll have me on my back, bent over, on the side, over him, under him, he’ll surround me, overwhelm me, pin me down with the force of his personality. His charisma, his larger-than-life essence that will crush everything else out of me and I… I’ll love it.
"No."
"Yes."
A fact. A statement of intent, spoken aloud. So true. So real. Too real. Too much. Too fast. All of my nightmares…my dreams come to life. Everything I’ve wanted is here in front of me. I’ll die a thousand deaths before he’ll be done with me… And then, will I be reborn? For him. For me. For myself. I live first and foremost to be the woman I am…am meant to be.
"You want to run?"
No.
No.
I nod my head
He turns his head and all of the breath leaves my lungs. Blue eyes—cerulean, dark like the morning skies, deep like the nighttime, hidden corners, secrets that I don’t dare uncover. He’ll destroy me, have my heart, and break it so casually.
My throat burns. A boiling sensation squeezes my chest.
"Go then, my beauty, fly. You have until I count to five. If I catch you, you are mine."
"If you don’t?"
"Then I’ll come after you, stalk your every living moment, possess your nightmares, and steal you away in the dead of midnight, and then…"
I draw in a shuddering breath; liquid heat drips from between my legs. "Then?" I whisper.
"Then, I’ll ensure you’ll never belong to anyone else, you’ll never see the light of day again, for your every breath, your every waking second, your thoughts, your actions…and all of your words, every single last one, will belong to me." He peels back his lips, and his teeth glint in the first rays of the morning light. "Only me." He straightens to his feet, and rises, and rises.
He is massive. A beast. A monster who always gets his way. My guts churn. My toes curl. Something primal inside of me insists I hold my own. I cannot give in to him. Cannot let him win whatever this is. I need to stake my claim in some form. Say something. Anything. Show him you’re not afraid of him.
"Why?" I tilt my head back, all the way back. "Why are you doing this?"
He tilts his
