Twisted Together (Monsters in the Dark #3)(27)

“Don’t speak to me,” Q muttered. His tone tightly controlled and ice cold.

I’ve done something wrong.

I was sure of it.

He’s guessed.

No, that couldn’t be possible. Please, don’t let that be possible. Only moments ago he’d been sweet and kind and very much together. Would I always suffer whiplash where his mercurial emotions were concerned?

Looking around at the milling guests, I hissed, “Stop making a spectacle, Q. People are looking.”

“They can look all they want. And to answer your question, no, I don’t own this hotel. If I did, I would’ve kicked everyone out by now so I could teach you a lesson right here.”

My eyes flared. “Teach me a lesson? What the hell did I do?” My lungs worked harder, saturating my blood with anger, ready to fight, ready to retaliate.

“You—you….Goddammit, I don’t know.” He sighed. The blazing fire in his gaze snuffed out, becoming human once again.

My own temper fizzled. Taking a risk, I rested a palm over his heart. “Take me to a room. Use me to forget whatever’s upsetting you.”

Use your chains. Use your scissors. Use whatever you want.

Before the image would’ve made me throb for a release. Now…now I vibrated to avoid it.

His shoulders tightened. “I’ve wanted you since you woke up screaming this morning.” His hand imprisoned mine, pressing my fingers harder against his chest. “I won’t hold back. I can’t hold back. Tell me now if that’s going to be an issue.”

Tears rushed my spine. Sadness filled my heart.

Yes, it’s an issue. But no, I won’t tell you.

Stepping into the role of Old Tess, I murmured, “I want you. I need you to hurt me, Q. I need to remember.”

Q’s back snapped straight. With a fierce kiss, he dragged me the rest of the way to reception in a flurry of footsteps.

The woman behind the desk was gorgeous with long black hair, thick eyelashes, and moon-sized eyes. She radiated an aura of strength and independence—exactly the type of woman Q admitted he liked—someone who wasn’t broken. Someone who would fight him.

A sharp band of jealousy struck from nowhere as the woman smiled at my master, batting those ridiculously thick eyelashes. I watched Q carefully, trying to read how affected he was by her.

He didn’t even glance at her. Dropping my elbow, he snatched his wallet from his back pocket, yanking out a credit card. Handing it over, he ordered, “The best room you have available and a suite for a colleague.”

The receptionist’s mouth parted slightly as she took the credit card, eyeing Q with interest. Her smile encompassed coyness rather than professionalism. I welcomed the snarl in my stomach. I loved the ignition of rage. Adored my willingness to fight.

It was so different to hurting the women in Rio. This I would gladly start and end.

Something shifted in me. Something small but fundamental as I took back a piece of my life—acknowledging my urge to hurt another.

“Is there a problem?” I said, dragging the girl’s eyes to mine. I had the sudden need to smooth my hair. I wished I wore a tailored dress or some exorbitantly expensive jewels. I felt so ordinary next to Q. But he was mine.

Hands off, bitch.

Her smile froze, turning to brittle efficiency. “No. No problem.”

We both jumped as Q slapped the counter. “When I asked for a room, I want it now, not tomorrow.”

The woman narrowed her eyes, bending to look at the computer screen. The cattiness and female challenge between us faded as her interest in Q died a quick death thanks to his rudeness.

After a second, she said, “We only have the Presidential suite available.”

“Fine. Book it.”

“How many nights will you be staying?” She fluttered those obnoxious lashes in Q’s direction.

“Not sure. Keep it open-ended.”

Her eyes popped wide; I swallowed back my smugness. Q was dangerous. He was dark. But he was also the most generous, sexy, powerful man I’d ever met.

Happiness ballooned as Q glanced my way. He didn’t acknowledge me, but we were linked too deep. We belonged.

I’m the luckiest girl in the world.

“Um, well. We can’t just hold it. It’s four thousands euros a night. Should I book for the one night, or a week, or what?”

Q bristled, electrifying the air. “Charge me whatever you want but give me the keys.” His eyes fell on me, melting the ice in my blood, turning me into a flickering candle ready to burn.

Holy crap. It wasn’t often that I blushed. But damn, Q set my cheeks on fire.

The girl dropped her eyes, her fingers flying over the keyboard.

A moment later, Q fisted the old-fashioned key she held up, and dragged me like his hard-won prey toward the elevator.

“I’ll keep the other key here for your colleague. Oh by the way, dinner is included in the room rate. I’ll advise your butler to confirm your menu selections,” the woman called after us.

Q slammed to halt, spinning back toward her. “If anyone interrupts us, I’ll have this entire hotel bulldozed to the ground. No dinner. No reservation. No menus. Nothing.” A smile decorated his face, struggling to project a businessman rather than a beast. “Merci.”

I didn’t say a word as we rushed to the elevators. He punched the ‘up’ button. His fingers tightened around mine until mini-heartbeats pounded in time with my fear.