When they open, he finally turns to me with a challenging look, daring me to counter his statement.
“Another escort back to my room, I see. Still savoring the hunt, Magnus?” I say before walking out ahead of him.
I feel his eyes on me from behind. Now, I know what the guppies of the world feel like once a shark has caught scent of them.
But as Magnus asked me himself, do I really want to remain a guppy?
Vengeance over forgiveness. Ruthlessness over mercy. Ferocity over gentleness. In his world, there’s no room for being soft.
The way my blood rushes at the thought of what could happen if I decide not to cut the night short at my door certainly doesn’t make me feel like prey.
It makes me feel like a shark.
By the time I reach the door, I’ve made up my mind.
“So, Magnus—”
I spin around just in time for him to cut me short, forcing me into the door with his body, his hand coming up to the nape of my neck, encouraging my head back, so his mouth has full access to mine.
As much as I crave the taste of him, I’m not ready to give in that easily. I force my way out of his embrace and pull back, glaring up at him.
“So much for the hunt.”
“Sometimes biological imperative trumps playing with one’s food.”
“Is that what I am to you? Food?”
“Who says I was talking about myself,” he says with a devilish grin.
“You’re obviously reading too much into what happened last night.”
“I’ve been reading you since the day I first saw you. It wasn’t just information for Jan that you wanted the moment you laid eyes on me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say, just to throw him off the scent.
“Should I buy another pair of earrings to whet that appetite of yours?”
I slap him, only realizing after the fact that I’ve done it. My first instinct is to apologize, thoroughly appalled at the act. I quash it before it can come to fruition. My curiosity to see how he reacts to something so violent overshadows any sense of decorum. Or job security.
The flash of angry surprise that first touches his eyes, turning them to green lightning excites me. It cools as quickly as a clap of thunder, leaving nothing but an echo of desire.
“Don’t be cliché, Sloane. You can do better than that. Where’s your real bite?” He practically growls, leaning in closer.
My eyes crawl over that sophisticated tuxedo that hides the animal underneath. I shouldn’t be doing this. But the fact that I told Magnus I wouldn’t do this releases the last of my inhibitions.
Channeling my own inner mako shark, my hand swims across the sensually smooth, white fabric of his dress shirt. Just as my fingers reach the opening between the buttons, I curl them, my nails finding the skin hidden beneath. They turn to claws as I rip it open, the buttons popping to the floor.
It’s only when I find his lips curled into a grin and his eyes crawling over my white dress that I realize my mistake. In what I’m sure is a rare moment of mercy, Magnus leans in and whispers in my ear.
“You’d better open that fucking door before I bite back harder.”
Chapter Forty-One Magnus
Sloane’s eyes are wide, having already figured out just how I plan on returning the favor of her claw marks across my chest and my ruined shirt.
She scrambles for her purse, dropping it in her quest to retrieve the key card and open the door before I rip that damn dress off her right here in the openness of the hallway.
Just as I did last night, I fall to the floor before her, resting on the balls of my feet to rescue it. This time I’m decidedly less gentlemanly about it. She stretches her hand out for the purse, and I hold it out of her reach. Sloane swallows hard, staring down at me as if to ask what I want. My eyes fall to the area just below that chained belt around her waist.
I start with her ankles. At the first touch of my fingertips, she flinches, pulling her leg away. I grab it, fiercely clamping my fingers around the slenderest part and holding it in place. I let go of the purse in my other hand, resting it well behind me and bring that hand around to join the other one.
Making sure she knows damn well not to move her leg, I take hold of the hem of her dress in each hand. The soft, gauzy skirt feels pathetically weak in my harsh grip. The blindingly white fabric rises with my hands to reveal even more strikingly dark skin underneath.
When the progress is halted by the belt, I allow the fabric to fall and find a better use for my hands. Once again, Sloane flinches when skin meets skin but wisely stays in place. My palms are filled by each curve of her firm calf, then the soft yield of her thigh.
Sloane gasps when my I fingers trace the edges of her panties, slipping underneath to find her soaking wet. Once again, tenderness turns to ferocity as I claw at them, snatching them away as I drag them down her legs. I force one ankle up, then the other to claim them as my own.
“Give me my purse.”
“No.”
She looks down the hallway, and I laugh in a low, soft growl.
“Worried someone might come and find us perfectly indecent? Feel free to put them back on,” I say, dangling the black lace on the end of one finger.
She snatches it away, her lips curled into a snarl as she does.
I laugh even louder and rise back up, taking her purse with me. I reach inside and grab the key card, tapping it against the pad to relieve her of this burden of impropriety.
She glares at me before opening the door. I press my hand flat against it, lest she get any ideas of slamming
