Lover Unleashed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #9)(105)

Payne all but jumped out from the office, and she had his briefcase and other things with her. “We’re free!”

With all the grace of an athlete, she ran to him, her hair flowing out behind her, her stride just as fluid as those dark waves on her head.

“We’re free! We’re free!”

As she leaped into his arms, he caught her and spun her around. “They’re letting us go?” he said.

“Indeed! We have clearance to take your automobile out from here.” As she handed him his things, she smiled so widely her fangs flashed. “I thought you might need these. And the phone works now.”

“How did you know they’re mine?”

“They carried your scent. And Wrath told me about the card thingy that my twin removed.”

Phone-schmone. The fact she recognized him by smell turned him on, reminding him of exactly how close they had gotten—

Okay, time to stop that film reel.

She put her hand up to his face. “You know what?”

“What?”

“I like the way you look at me, Manuel.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“It makes me think of when your mouth was upon me.”

Manny groaned and nearly lost it. So to keep things from getting out of hand, he put his arm around her waist. “Come on. Let’s take off before we lose the chance.”

Her laugh was so carefree that for some reason it split his chest wide and exposed the beating heart behind his ribs. And that was before she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“You are aroused.”

He glanced over at her. “And you are playing with fire.”

“I like being hot.”

Manny barked out a laugh. “Well, don’t you worry—you are just that.”

When they came up to the fire door, he put his palm on the push bar. “This really going to open?”

“Try it and find out.”

He tilted in . . . and what do you know, the latch sprang free and the heavy metal panel went wide.

As vampires with guns and machetes didn’t come streaming down on them from every direction, he shook his head. “How in the hell did you manage this.”

“The king was not happy. But I am not a prisoner here, I am of age, and there is no reason I should not be able to leave the compound.”

“And at the end of the evening . . . what then?” As her joy diminished, he thought, Uh-huh, that was how she’d pulled it off. Technically, she was escorting him home. . . . This was their good-bye.

He smoothed her hair back. “It’s okay. It’s . . . all right, bambina.”

She seemed to swallow hard. “I shall not think of the future, and neither should you. There are hours and hours to be had.”

Hours. Not days or weeks or months . . . or years. Hours.

God, he didn’t feel free at all.

“Come on,” he said, stepping out and taking her hand. “Let’s make this count.”

His car was parked in the shadows on the right, and when he got over to it, he found the thing unlocked. But come on, like anyone was going to get at it?

He opened the passenger-side door. “Let me help you in.”

Taking her arm like a gentleman, he settled her and then stretched the seat belt across her breasts, clicking it into place.

As her eyes bounced around the interior and her hands stroked the sides of the bucket seat, he figured this could be her first car ride. And how cool was that?

“You ever been in one of these before?” he asked.

“Verily, I have not.”

“Well, I’ll take it slow.”

She caught his hand as he straightened. “Does this go fast?”

He laughed a little. “It’s a Porsche. Fast is what it does.”

“Then you shall take us upon the wind! It shall be as my days astride were!”

Manny took a mental snapshot of the wild happiness on her face: She was glowing—and not in the ethereal sense, but in the simple joy-of-life way.

He leaned in and kissed her. “You are so beautiful.”

She captured his face. “And I thank you for it.”

Oh, but it so wasn’t him. What was lighting her up was freedom and health and optimism—and she deserved nothing less out of life.

“I have someone I want you to meet,” he blurted.

Payne smiled at him. “Then drive on, Manuel. Take us into the night.”

After a moment more of staring at her . . . he did just that.





THIRTY-SEVEN


Standing naked in his penthouse, Vishous waited for something . . . anything.

Instead, Butch backed off and disappeared into the kitchen. As he was left to his lonesome, V closed his eyes and cursed. This was a bad idea. You didn’t ask a good Catholic boy to play with the kind of toys V—

The hit came from behind, fast and sure.

It was a modified body slam, and executed beautifully: Two huge arms wrapped him at the chest and the hips and he was slung around and spun out into the far wall by the worktable. Which was when the “slam” part came in: Every square inch of him made impact. No bounce-back, though. No ricocheting.

He was pinned in place by the nape and the ass.

“Arms over your head.”

That growl was like a gun to the back of his skull and V struggled to comply, fighting against the pressure that trapped both his arms in front of his chest. The right side came free first—and the instant his wrist was out from under, it was grabbed and forced into a cuff. Left side happened just as fast.